Melchior opened the small plastic bottle and tipped out two pills into the cupped palm of his hand. Eleven left, he thought as he put them under his tongue.

  He placed the container back into his pocket and swallowed down his medicine forcefully. His stomach rolled, his skin heated with fever, but he couldn't stop. He'd been increasingly downing pills in an effort to dissuade Beasts from chasing him and Ira--even as his stomach lining began cramping and his lungs began shuddering.

  It was too much, too fast. He was accumulating too much poison in his bloodstream, not giving himself enough time to burn it off--but how could he? Without his pills, without a collar on his curse, Ira was in danger. He couldn't rest and keep Ira safe. One had to take priority, and to him it was no question.

  His head was fuzzy, stuffed with cotton and aching. His limbs trembled, his tongue ran dry--but it still wasn't enough. He could feel it, rolling at the back of his gut. So he'd sent him away. In body only, because he hadn't stopped thinking of him since they split up.

  He hoped Ira was doing well. He had seemed upset. It had been unsettling, actually, because he had been playing it calm--as calm as he ever could--but Melchior had heard the spike of his pulse, and seen the red hue kiss up his throat. He was upset, but pretending he wasn't, and that was somehow a lot worse.

  Melchior ignored the dull pang between his ribs, he rubbed it away with the heel of his palm and hoped it was longing instead of heart failure.

  Melchior didn't want to go his own way, he didn't want to do it alone, but what choice did he have? He'd seen it first hand, he'd almost gotten Ira killed. If Ira hadn't thought to bless the entire Kaaterskill basin, they would have been trapped and killed.

  Their luck would run out, but the Beasts would never stop seeking him, chasing the scent of his cursed blood. Just as the Ze'ev of his home forest had done.

  Ira was safer without him and if Melchior could act as a lure, then nothing would bother him at all. Maybe Ira would even find the gate if nothing stood in his way. If anyone could save them from their rapidly approaching misfortune, it was Ira. Melchior believed that, he had to, or the hopelessness of his last two months would begin to sink in.

  He was a flea on the back of a dog, searching for the left kidney. It was impossible to push away the feeling that he wasn't just wasting what little time he had left fumbling around the forest by himself.

  So much of his current path left him confused, but he'd been using Ira's begrudging conversation to distract himself from all of the mess. Now, without that sound, all he could do was sink into it.

  Those dizzying thoughts that he'd been burying deep inside his calm facade began to rise to the surface, until he couldn't even breath. He walked between the cerulean blue pine trees, choking on his own self-pity.

  He was a fraud. That was one of the ways to describe what he was doing. He was a liar too, and a mongrel, a monster, a waste of high blood, the cursed boy, the sacrifice, the world's price to pay to claw back from the edge of destruction--he was all of this, and none of it when Ira looked at him.

  His blue eyes had a way of sealing Melchior Brisbane into his human face. When they were together, there was no prophecy. There was no execution date, or doomed fate. It was ironic, and confusing, considering that this twisted up legacy was all that had ever existed between them but somehow it didn't exist at all for as long as they remained together.

  Melchior couldn't really pick apart the reason why. Maybe that was why it was so easy to say he had a crush, because he really couldn't think of another way to explain himself.

  Melchior sunk his fingers into his short hair and combed it back, groaning in frustration. His Ira troubles were the least of his problems.

  He was alone in the Beast infested forest, with beacon blood coursing through his veins.

  Well, since he was tallying his problems--he was a liar, too. He was lying to the entirety of the Progeny, in the hopes of gleaming just a few more seconds of life. He was lying to Ira about even more. He'd lied to his brother about doing whatever it took to survive. He'd lied to himself when he entertained small flickerings of fantasy, pretending a world could exist where he freely liked Ira Rule.

  Melchior was just another beast in the trees.

  His stomach ached. He sighed between his clenched teeth and swallowed down his doubts, forcing them back into the place he'd made for them at the base of his skull. Company or not, he didn't have time for any of this. He'd split away from Ira to accomplish what he couldn't by his side, he didn't have the afternoon to spare.

  He pressed forward carefully to keep from slipping in the mud from last night's rain. Ira had taken off quite quickly, hadn't he? He wasn't known to be the most clear-headed, either. What if he'd slipped in the murky trails? What if he'd sprained his ankle or scraped his knees--enough.

  Melchior shook his head and chewed on his inner lip. He knew Ira would have been angry to hear him worrying about him as if he was a little kid. He was older than Melchior, wasn't he? even if only by a year. He'd remembered Ailbe saying nineteen was old for a Pilgrimage.

  Melchior paused. Wait, was Ira only a year older than him? There was something else he'd heard about the Soul of the Progeny.

  "Enough," Melchior breathed. He pressed his palms to the sides of his head, banishing the rumors into the back of his skull. He'd already decided to forget anything Ira didn't tell him himself. "It'll be fi-" he coughed, and sputtered on his words.

  When had his chest gone so tight? He couldn't shake the feeling that there was a three-pound screw in the center of his ribs, twisting and twisting. Melchior rubbed at the center of his chest, trying to ease the pressure before the bones broke.

  He blinked away the black spots crowding the edges of his vision. He's legs wobbled, buckled, and folded. Melchior crumbled onto his knees, sinking into the slick forest floor. He choked for air, pounding at his chest with his flattened palm. His eyes squeezed shut, trying to chase out a warning he'd long discarded.

  "Pup, listen to me." Ailbe said sternly. "These pills will make you sick. I won't sugar coat things, it's poison and it's dangerous. The goal is to give your body something to fight, so you're so caught up trying to heal you can't do anything else."

  "This is a bad idea, Ailbe." Ishmael interrupted. "Melchi's wounds close quickly, sure, but we have no idea what's happening on the inside. He could overdose."

  "I'll be fine. If these pills can stop that thing--well, I'll take them." Melchior agreed.

  "Melchi, please take this seriously. Monkshood is dangerous. Do you even know what could happen to you? Numbness, confusion, heart palpitations--respiratory failure. That risk isn't worth it, not to me." Ishmael growled. "Ailbe, I'm begging you, don't do this."

  "I'll be okay." Melchior promised. "Trust me, okay?"

  Oh, he thought, I've always been a liar.

  "I-Ir-" He sputtered on his words. He wished he'd never sent him away, and then he wished he wasn't so selfish.

  I can't breathe. I'm going to die, I'm going to-

  Crack.

  Melchior snapped his head to the side, chasing the sound of breaking sticks and crunching leaves.

  When had it snuck up on him? It must have been following him all this time. He squeezed his fingers into fists and snarled from the back of his throat. The glowing yellow eyes stared back, unamused by his lame attempt at bravery. And yet, a small trickle of relief slipped down the back of his throat--it crystalized there and became something sharp to gasp in air around.

  He wasn't dying--well, he wasn't dying yet. He wasn't overdosing on his prescription poison. He was choking on the anger leaking from the approaching Ze'ev.

  "S-stop," Melchior gasped. It was hard to breathe around the knots bursting inside of him. It was even harder to speak. His vision turned foggy white, his skull was pounding so hard he could sense each thump in his spine.

  The bushes rustled, the creature stalked slowly forward. It emerged from the foliage, holding its' head high and flashing its' sharpened teeth. Its' long brown fur was curling at the edges from last night's showers.

  It rounded on Melchior's kneeling form, snarling in the pit of its' chest. It opened its' maw, showing off four-inch long teeth. Melchior's fingers twitched for his Ossein throwing knife. If the Ze'ev wanted to see wolf teeth, he'd show it one.

  Melchior paused. It hadn't been his knife he'd used last time. He dug into his pocket and seized his pill bottle. The contents rattled in his shaking grip. The Ze'ev's pointed ears twitched. Its' nose wrinkled, and another snarl slipped up its' throat.

  The warning made a noise in his head. Poison.

  "Stop." Melchior wheezed. He held out his medicine, displaying it at an arm's length. "Or I'll-" He coughed. His arm slackened, and his pills fell into the mud. Melchior stared down at the orange plastic, watching with indifferent horror as the earth swallowed it.

  The Ze'ev barked. It didn't make any sound in Melchior's mind, it only filled him with the sense he was being laughed at.

  Melchior's cheeks burned. His eyes prickled with unshed tears. The iron shell expanding in the pit of his chest began to churn, and boil. Anger rose up, faster than a tidal wave. Everywhere that Ze'ev was choking him became poison. It leaked into his mind, filling him up with bitterness.

  Stupid mutt. Stupid mongrel. I'm going to kill you, I'm going to kill you, I'm going to--

  "I said stop!" Melchior shouted. He seized the rotten core in the pit of his ribs and shoved. It was as painful as pushing molten metal with his bare hands. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and screamed until a sudden hush fell over him.

  Melchior tumbled forward, falling on his elbows into the mud. He snapped up his pills and held them over his chest. He sucked in giant breaths of cool summer air. The haze departed his vision, his headache began to lesson, and the Ze'ev began to growl.

  Melchior glanced up, blinking through a wall of unshed tears. The Ze'ev lashed its' tail, and snorted, remarking in a cold huff. Impressive.

  Melchior stared up at the creature, his eyes wide in shock. He stared into glowing yellow-green eyes, biting down the sense of familiarity that they invoked in him. "I didn't." He whispered, but he knew he had. He'd done it. He'd broken the wolf's hold over him, and it filled him with dread.

  The Ze'ev lowered onto his haunches and stared. Its' eyes flickered to Melchior's cradled pills, and to his Ossein-tipped arrows. Melchior rose to his knees, and slowly tucked his quiver behind his back. For some reason, he felt unexplainably guilty.

  The wolf's gaze returned to Melchior's face. They stayed frozen that way, for so long the mud began to dry on the skin of Melchior's arms.

  The wolf huffed from its' nose and tipped its' head in a way that seemed puppy-ish in nature. If not for the six-inch claws, or bullish size, Melchior might have fooled himself into thinking he was hanging out with the neighborhood stray.

  Confused.

  Melchior blinked. "What?" He finally choked out.

  The Ze'ev adjusted its' stance, shifting on its' four paws. If dogs could shrug, it might have then.

  Allegiance?

  Melchior swallowed hard. Well, he wasn't a friend to this wolf--but if he said that, was he going to get his throat torn out? He'd never successfully hunted anything besides that Beast in the Kaaterskills. He didn't think he'd win any one on one with a Ze'ev.

  "You want to know if we're friends? You almost killed me with that--with. . . I don't know how you did it, actually, and I don't want to know." Melchior muttered, "but I can't kill you. So, call that an alliance if you want."

  The Ze'ev tipped its' head, and Melchior got the feeling that he'd misinterpreted the wolf's question. The creature stood on its' paws and shook out its' coat. It snarled and snapped its' formidable fangs.

  Two-headed, without ears, consult the king if I could.

  Melchior drank in the meaning of its' doggish growling and thought: maybe I really can't speak Ze'ev, maybe I really am just crazy.

  "What does that mean?" He asked. He pressed his palms to his head, stifling away the headache blooming there. "I don't understand what you're saying."

  The Ze'ev glanced at him and snorted. Let us go.

  "You and me? What, you need a walk? I'm not going anywhere with you." He bit back.

  The Ze'ev snarled, lashing its' tail. Will follow, or will die here. It cocked its' head and flicked its' ears. Or, help me and I help you.

  "What could you possibly help me with?" Melchior snapped back.

  The wolf glanced down at his pills, and then back up at his face. No help needed you say, but two-heads and no ears will lead you into trouble.

  It was complete nonsense. It was a threat. It was a warning. It was something Melchior perfectly understood, well aside from the remark about his ears. "You can. . . help with my curse?"

  The Ze'ev did not speak. It turned and trotted back into the pine trees. Melchior pushed himself up onto his shaking legs and quickly followed. This wouldn't be his first nor his last time, he thought, chasing monsters through the woods.

  ? ? ?

  Melchior slipped, falling on his knees in the murky forest floor. He winced and braced himself against the rough bark of a pine trunk. His limbs were still jelly weak from the Ze'ev's attack earlier.

  He grit his teeth and shook the haze from his mind.

  The wolf paused and glanced back at him with hollow yellow eyes. Four legs faster than two.

  "That's not the problem!" Melchior huffed, "the problem is that psych attack thing you did before." And the concoction of deadly poison in his stomach, but he didn't mention that part.

  The Ze'ev tilted its head and huffed angrily back. You walked right into it. Two-heads, both in the clouds today. Blind and noseless, as pup.

  Melchior flushed red and grit his teeth. The Ze'ev was right. He'd been distracted. If he hadn't been entirely wrapped up in his self-guilt, he'd have heard the Ze'ev's heartbeat. He'd have scented its' clouded up emotions in the air well before he smacked into it. He clicked his tongue and pulled himself back up to his feet.

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  "Fine, but you're still just a damned hellhound." Melchior muttered.

  And you--just a pup. The Ze'ev grumbled.

  Melchior's stomach curled. He winced, remembering the way Ailbe always used to call for him. "Don't call me that." He barked back. "If you're going to call for me, use my name."

  The Ze'ev paused. It turned on its' paws and stared Melchior down with glistening yellow eyes. He thought it was going to leap for his throat, but it snorted in amusement instead. I do not know it.

  Melchior blushed pink and glanced away. "Right. . . of course not." His tongue froze behind his teeth. Was he going to introduce himself to a demon? It didn't feel right. He was already pushing his luck entertaining it, just on the off-chance it could give him what he wanted. And wasn't that the oldest trick in the book? Demons always had sweet words and fake promises--and Melchior was buying it.

  So, he could notch an arrow when it turned back around--and then what? Dispose of it in one shot? He was good with his aim, but wolf hide was tougher than iron. Could he really risk his life? What if the wolf wasn't lying?

  His curse had come from a demon.

  So, a demon could fix it.

  "Melchior Brisbane." He said. "Uh, you just say the first part."

  The Ze'ev nodded, and made a sound in the pit of its' throat. It reverberated around the inside of Melchior's skull, echoing as beautifully as birdsong. It smoked, too, throwing off a number of shadowy words. Meanings and intentions, that would fizzle out on their own. Melchior pressed them all back together, until it became something he could repeat back. "Jindre K'dal?"

  You just say the first part.

  "You have a name?" Melchior asked. "First and last? How? Why? Where'd you get it? Are there more names?"

  The Ze'ev barked its' laughter again and turned to keep moving.

  "Jindre," Melchior echoed. There was a softness to the name that he hadn't expected. Saying it outloud filled him with the sense of calling for a friend. The Ze'ev's ears twitched, and Melchior laughed. "You really are just like a dog."

  Jindre rolled her shoulders and huffed.

  Melchior froze. Her? When had he come to that conclusion? After learning this Ze'ev had a name? He was getting reckless. He was beginning to personify it in his mind. He was walking a dangerous line.

  He knew all of that--but he couldn't stop. They were at least briefly aligned, for as long as she needed his help. This could be his only chance to ask all the questions that had plagued him for six agonizing years.

  "What did you need my help with anyway?" Melchior asked.

  Jindre leapt over a fallen log, and landed with a less than graceful splash into a puddle of rain water. Melchior winced and pulled back his boots to avoid getting soaked. She shook her coat and grumbled, help me--the apex predator.

  "Right, you'd mentioned that last time we met." Melchior mumbled. "How am I supposed to help? What's the apex predator? Is it a Beast? Why are you looking for a Beast?"

  Much barking, but little meaning, Jindre scowled.

  Melchior picked his legs up and crawled over the log. "Hey, you want my help or not?"

  Jindre tilted her head and sighed. She fixed Melchior under her glowing yellow eyes and puffed up her chest. Hunter, are you? Two-headed, four-eyed, must make for easy catch.

  "I am." Melchior swallowed. He'd been purposefully avoiding that particular elephant. He hunted demons--Ze'ev such as Jindre. When he got what he wanted, he'd become that hunter again--before she could turn on him first. "I don't use my curse for it. Just two eyes, one head."

  He scoffed and ran his hand over the back of his neck--angels, who was he kidding? He wasn't Ishmael. He'd never killed any demons. He'd been under house arrest since he was twelve, and had done nothing notable before.

  Help me catch predator, I help you. Jindre grumbled.

  Well, she didn't know that. Besides, he had helped Ira take down that Beast. How difficult could a Ze'ev be? He shuddered, remembering suddenly at least three occasions in which a Ze'ev had reduced him to a chew-toy. If he hadn't had his brother, or his pills, he'd have died several times over.

  One of those counts, belonged to this very hellhound.

  "You'll help me with my curse?" Melchior guessed.

  I will give you what you need. Jindre answered.

  What he needed? That was a little vague. Still, what he needed was a cure to his curse.

  Or, was that only what he thought? If Jindre really could take it back, then what? He'd conveniently return to the Progeny in time for them to spill his cursed blood--and pinky promise that he was better now? No, what he really needed was to find the gate before the Cardinal ordered Ira to lop his head off.

  Melchior frowned down into the palms of his hands. His stomach flipped. He was almost too scared to ask. "Can you tell me where the rift is?"

  Jindre licked her teeth. She leapt ahead, tilting her head back to suck in deep breaths of the cool summer air. Only one?

  "T-there's more than one?" Melchior paused. He squinted down at his boots. "Wait, you're talking about how the He-Goats and Ze'ev crossover, right? I mean, you just walk through, don't you? You're magic--you can just step across."

  Jindre flicked her ears, and if Ze'ev could roll their eyes she might have. Can you walk through walls?

  Melchior's throat tightened. "There are more gates? How many more? Where? Does the Progeny know? Angels, this could change everything. If the only way for demons to enter earth is through doors, the Progeny could close them--and you'd be powerless to open more, right? You never could, could you?"

  You are right, demons have no power over the walls. Jindre agreed.

  His boots grew heavy as the muck accumulated along the sides. He frowned. "Wait--why are you telling me this? I might have agreed to help you, but tomorrow we'll wake up enemies."

  Jindre paused. She flicked her tail, and rumbled, I agreed to help you. You are curious, and I have been missing someone to talk to.

  Melchior adjusted his quiver over his shoulder and furrowed his brows. "I heard you, the night we fought-"

  That was nothing of a fight, little one.

  "-whatever, the night we fought--you were howling. I don't know how it works in Hell, but wolves here only do that if they belong to a pack." He said, but he knew they were alone. He couldn't hear any other pulses in the forest. "Who were you looking for?"

  It would be madness to seek what I know I lost. Jindre dismissed with a huff.

  "You lost your pack? What happened? Is it related to the Beast? Is that why you need help? For revenge?" Melchior rambled.

  Jindre sighed. Revenge? I would not know where to begin. Where I was born, the earth is salt and the sky is ash and if you are not strong--it wins. There is no malice, there is no retribution to be sought. We all earned our place there, dragged down by the fetters of our sins. We cry only to mourn, never expecting the ones we lost to respond.

  Melchior shivered, wrapping his arms around his chest. "That's why you left?" His stomach rolled painfully. Hell; scorched earth that even the demons fled from--that's all that waited for him and his cursed soul. Unless he fulfilled this mission with Ira, and managed to win forgiveness from the angels.

  Jindre nodded, her eyes turned to him and her teeth flashed from behind her pulled up maw. You ask why I tell you this? You have to know. It is your fate, too. Melchior Brisbane, you may walk the earth with your human face--but I smell your blood. You and I, we're the same.

  "We aren't the same." Melchior grit his pointed teeth and glared down at her, knowing that she was right. If he failed, if the angels never accepted him to the promise--he was just as damned.

  Jindre growled. The echo stung Melchior's skin, and summoned tears up in his eyes. He couldn't understand her. The sound and the image it conjured were separate in his mind. He rolled his tongue over those noises, and slowly spit them back out. "Tachtadh, what is that? It's waiting for me?"

  Jindre stared at him, unspeaking and unmoving, until the frost melted from her words and the meaning settled.

  The choke waits for you, too.

  Melchior's swallowed, tensing down the ghostly images of scalding wind and rotten dirt. "Fine, then I'll just escape, too. If leaving Hell is as easy as checking out of a day-spa-"

  I walk in two worlds, because I am one. Jindre grumbled. You, who are two, may only walk in one.

  "What does that mean?" Melchior asked. "My curse is going to chain me up in Hell? You said we're the same! You said demons could leave Hell! So, why not me? Why can't I?"

  You are too divided. What was done to you, you carry the mark in your soul. It is no longer Heimrian. You have lost the purity and gift of a Heimrian soul. Jindre blinked slowly, waiting for Melchior to drink in her words--and he could. He knew that when she said Heimrian, she meant human. She meant that he was no longer human. Yet, this boy I see before me is very Heimrian. You'd have no place in my world, either. I do not know what will happen to you, but it will be neither an Avernian death nor a Heimrian ending. You can not be both. One day, you must choose.

  "Then I'll pick being human." Melchior grit out.

  Jindre barked her laughter and slashed her tail through the air. Are you so sure?

  "Of course I am!" Melchior growled. "What's my other option? Becoming a monster?"

  Do you not kill? Do you do no wrong? You take the teeth of our kind. Rob the mothers of their femur bones and sharpen them into knives to kill the pups. That seems monstrous enough to me.

  "I-" Melchior stuttered. "Your kind are demons."

  Agreement, Jindre barked, but we are not the only monsters.

  Melchior's shoulders slumped. He stared down at the mud kissed covers of his boots and fell silent. He was two things--they stirred up his insides in a constant fire-fight. They would never be allies. They'd sooner tear Melchior apart.

  He knew she was right.

  There were monsters on both sides.

  "Whatever I am, devil or human, I'm dangerous. I'm not worth all of this. Everyone is trying so hard to buy me time. Ailbe, my brother, Ira--but I'm the time bomb. It's too much, Jindre. I can't go back to the cabin cellar, the prophecy, the Pilgrimage, the curse--why can't I just be? I'll never be human enough to go home--I'm not demon enough to control this curse--why can't I just be left alone!"

  He hadn't realized he'd been shouting, until he heard his voice echo back to him. Jindre whimpered. She shifted on her paws, and lowered her yellow eyes in defeat. Her tail curled up along her belly, and she sunk down into the mud.

  "S-stop that." Melchior breathed. He pressed his palms against his head, choking on the tension rising in the air. "I said stop doing that!" He screamed.

  His chest threatened to burst outward from the pressure building between his ribs. He gasped for air. He sputtered when it was too thick to go down. He fell to his knees, bowing in the mud beside Jindre.

  She whined and crawled forward. She pressed her cold nose to Melchior's wrist, breathing trickles of hot breath down bandage and skin. He glanced up at her, staring into the mirror of her emerald golden eyes.

  Calm down, little one. You are at odds with yourself. The harder you push apart, the more likely you are to break.

  "Stop it." Melchior whispered. It hurt. It was hotter than breathing ash, it was thicker than swallowing fire. This was it. The Tachtadh. The choke--where he was doomed for eternity. He was gasping miles beneath the ocean. "Why are you doing this?"

  She sighed, laying her head across his lap. It was warm. Her fur tickled his stomach through his thin shirt. Begrudgingly, Melchior set his hands on her head, and stroked down the soft side of her throat. I said I would help you.

  "Why?" Melchior bit out. "Why ask for my help at all, why offer me something in return?"

  She glanced up at him with her glowing eyes. You remind me of someone I knew.

  Melchior laughed bitterly. "Doesn't that seem like too simple of an answer? I'm Progeny, I always have been and I always will be. Don't you recognize my arrows? They're the teeth and claws of your kind. I'm nothing like you, or the demon you knew." His stomach twisted. The air turned hazy, growing thick with anger.

  Jindre blinked, she shook her head to rid her muzzle of the taste in the air. You can't speak for the future, as I cannot change the past. I had a pup once. They were often scared. They were sick, filled by poisonous food and rotten water. In the end, they were alone. I will never see her again, but I see you now. I see you for what you truly are, and I can help you.

  "You can fix this?" Melchior whispered. "You can take my curse back?"

  Jindre sighed. No, I cannot.

  "What?" Melchior snarled, "but a Ze'ev-"

  Jindre pushed herself to her paws. Are you sure? Silver-tongued wolves are rare. If it was a wolf, it was an old one. What's been done to you--I have no way to take it back.

  "You said you'd help me!" Melchior whimpered.

  Yes, and I will. What's been done is done, until a power much greater than anything in this realm or the next see it undone, you will have to learn to survive. I will teach you.

  "I don't need demonology lessons! I need to find the rift, or the Cardinal is going to make Ira-" Melchior groaned, "just tell me where it is, and I'll help you find your Beast."

  Jindre tilted her head and lashed her tail. I do not know.

  Melchior sunk his face into his opened palms and choked back his brimming tears. She'd led him miles off course, she'd lied about being any help at all, she couldn't fix his curse or lead him to the gate, and she'd told him he was doomed to Hell.

  "Ze'ev." He cursed, "I should have known better than to listen to a demon. I was just desperate, and stupid."

  Jindre flared her teeth and rumbled, do not be too quick at turning away my help.

  "What could you possibly do for me?" Melchior growled.

  I cannot fix your curse, but I can help you control it.

  "What do you know about my curse?" Melchior bit out between his clenched teeth.

  I know that demons flock to you. I know that wolves chase you, and Faun flee from you, and that any Beast here will seek you--and that other boy you walk with.

  "Don't talk about him." Melchior snapped. He didn't know what a Faun was either, but the focus of Jindre's growl was something small and weak, almost lamb-like in his mind.

  Jindre sighed, shaking her head. You need my help, little one. Or you'll always be the danger in his life.

  "You know why monsters come after me? And you can help me fix it?" Melchior muttered, "you're lying. Monsters come after me because I-" he choked and swallowed hard, "monsters seek monsters, that's why the Progeny are leaving all the bodies behind. If you can't fix my curse, you can't help me."

  Jindre scoffed and shook her head, you do not know anything.

  "I know that for six years Ze'ev have been chasing me--and now Beasts, too." Melchior snapped. "It's in my blood."

  The only thing in your blood is power, Jindre growled, and I can help you learn to control it.

  "I. . . Ira can be safe with me, if I learn how to control it?" Melchior glared down at his curling fists and shook his head at his momentary lapse of sense. "If you really know what I am, you know that summoning monsters is the least of what I can do."

  Are you afraid? Jindre barked.

  "Of the rest? I'm terrified." Melchior whispered. "You can teach me to control that too?"

  Jindre tilted her head for a moment and then shook her muzzle. I cannot, I wouldn't know how. You're the first I've met.

  Melchior scowled. "Not a lot of cursed kids where you're from?"

  None like you. Jindre agreed with a huff.

  "Great--I'm a freak by hellhound standards, too." He grumbled.

  Jindre barked her melodic laughter and lashed her tail. Come, you'll learn. She turned on her paws and trotted off into the trees.

  Melchior remained in the mud, choking on the tightness of his own tears and tensed muscles. He tilted his head back and stared at the cerulean needles poking the sky. He inhaled the scent of sap, of petrichor, and of moss--and he found it was the only scent left in the forest. The heavy rot of anger had dissipated.

  "Angels, help me." He whispered. He pressed his fingernails into his palms, until they bit into the flesh, until small droplets of blood welled up in the crescent moon cuts. Melchior sighed, and his punishing grip slackened. He watched silently as the skin began to knit itself back together.

  His angels never responded--but he could still hear the sound of Jindre's heartbeat. He knew he'd be a fool if he trusted the word of a demon dog, he knew Ishmael would curse him until he ran out of words--but he also knew that angels weren't going to answer him.

  He'd never claimed to be the brightest, either. He quickly pushed himself to his feet. He reshouldered his quiver, and the duffle bag. He pulled his bow down into his grip to lesson the burden on his back, and followed after her. Or, he tried to.

  He could barely keep tabs on her as she gained speed. He turned to what he could chase, and followed the rapid beat of her heart, and shadow of her tail disappearing around the next bend.

  He ran until his legs began to shake, and his lungs began to burn, and he began to think he really was an idiot for following her this far.

  "Hey, Jin-" Melchior gasped back his words and winced. He blinked at the sudden brightness piercing his green eyes. He held his palm up over his face, staring down at the meadow with unease. Why had she taken them out of the forest?

  She was circling the middle of the clearing, sniffing at the drying grass and wagging her tail innocently. She raised her head and barked, you are slow, little one.

  "Whatever--now tell me what we're doing." He demanded.

  You are to call us a Beast. She answered.

  "What?" Melchior sputtered, "angels, you are just a crazy dog. That's a terrible idea."

  You agreed to help me catch a Beast, this way we can do both tasks as one. Jindre reasoned, rather unreasonably.

  "How am I supposed to call up a Beast?" Melchior asked, drawing down his eyebrows into a glare strong enough to convey his skepticism. "Hop on my supernatural payphone? Sorry, I haven't got a quarter. Say I could do that--what are you even going to do when it arrives?"

  Kill it, of course. Jindre barked.

  "Ah, right. Of course." Melchior muttered. "Don't you think this is a bad idea?"

  Jindre tipped her head and blinked.

  "Of course not." Melchior groaned. "Fine, okay. If this goes south, I won't hesitate to leave you."

  Jindre puffed up her fur and growled. Earless coward.

  "I don't know what that means! Why do you keep talking about my ears? It's weird!" Melchior choked down his rising irritation, stifling it back into the back of his skull where he kept all of the things he didn't want to feel.

  You can call the Beast, you've done it before. Jindre protested. You called it for the boy, and he burned it away into ash.

  "How do you know that?" Melchior asked.

  Jindre flicked her tongue over her teeth and scowled. I was following you, of course.

  "What? Since when? I would have heard you! Like I did the first time." Melchior disagreed.

  Like you did today? Jindre chuckled. There are many more ways to follow you than to trail your body, little one. You will learn, if you begin to learn how to control your power.

  "Well, whatever, cause you're wrong." Melchior puffed childishly, "I didn't call anything for Ira. That thing was hunting me--I had nothing to do with it. Monsters have chased me for six years. It's just who I am. I can't call anything--if I could I would have hung up and blocked the number."

  You invite challenge, little one.

  "So it's my fault?" Melchior exhaled. "I didn't do anything!"

  Jindre shook her head. All young ones struggle to control their emotions.

  Melchior's stomach twisted, and his heart throbbed. He remembered words spoken between Ailbe and Ishmael, as he cowered in his cellar. Ones not meant for him, but that hadn't escaped his sensitive ears.

  "He brings them from Hell, especially on days when he's upset."

  "He's just a kid--kids get emotional."

  Melchior pressed his knuckle to his lips. At the Kaaterskill, when had the Beast begun approaching them? They'd been sitting beside the water. Ira had begun to fall asleep, and Melchior had begun to think to himself. Of the weight bearing down on his shoulders. Of his curse, of his lies, and of the responsibility ahead.

  "I-it's me?" He whispered. "They're coming after me, because I'm upset? I don't understand."

  Jindre snorted from her nose and folded her tail over her paws. She opened her jaw to reveal her sharpened teeth, and breathed over her pink tongue, because, Melchior Brisbane--we are the same. You can turn your emotions into magic, you can string up walls made of your own thoughts and rob the air from your enemies lungs. You have a power. You have Fetor. Now, concentrate, or we will not eat tonight.

  Melchior blinked in her words. His heart filled up the insides of his ribs, pounding until he thought he might be sick. He didn't understand much of what she'd said--except that he was just as he had always feared. He was a monster. He was just like her. He steeled his resolve, and opened his mouth, to ask her the only question he could bring to his mind. "Eat?"