Monday October 6th 2014

The walk across campus was done with a watchfulness honed with paranoia. Only the insomniacs were in the cafeteria, and they weren’t the ones hunting him.

He watched students filter into the cafeteria from the loser's table, tension winding through his body at every tick of the clock. The islands slowly filled with sleepy, dead eyed students. A quiet silence held the cafeteria until the pack pushed through the double doors and pivoted for Cesare's table.

Cesare tracked the feral boys as they split up. One came at him from either side of the table while the others faced him across the wood. Cesare's tight smile slowed them, drawing uncertain looks from the pack. Following Cesare’s line of sight, anger twisted their faces as they realized who’d entered the room.

Jerold and Sarah walked to the breakfast line hand in hand, talking quietly to each other. Jerold’s eyes settled on the pack, face tightening in thought. Under that quiet stare, the pack slid away sullenly. Briefly, Jerold's ice-blue eyes locked with Cesare.

Elizabeth walked in behind the couple, with Viktor beside her. She’d taken his words to heart and decided to stand for him. Elizabeth was the one that convinced the teachers, she’d gone to them and said what needed saying to get Cesare the help he needed.

Even if she couldn’t sit with him, even if no one else knew of their friendship, it meant everything to him. He didn't need wild sex. He needed someone who had his back … that cared enough to fight for him.

A relationship wasn’t a fiery, all-consuming passion. It wasn’t wild sex that burned your soul and twisted muscles. It wasn't promises of everlasting love or poetry written in glitter.

It was the steady power of the earth. Lasting through the epochs of ice that covered the land, suffering volcanoes and earthquakes, it outlasted the parasites that infested its flesh. A relationship was the joining of people who sustained each other. No matter the storms that came, they were in it together.

Anastasia laughed at Blaez’s joke as the two walked by hand in hand. The golden duo, the two everyone wanted to be, the standard every boy and girl was judged by. She was happy with the werewolf, and there was no reason she shouldn’t be. Blaez was charming, handsome, and rich. One of the masters of the school with a pack of sociopathic slaves to run down his prey for him.

Cesare took his time after class, waiting until the other students had left for lunch. Elizabeth waited patiently, hands composed before her, only the faint tremble of her fingertips giving her away. He set the animal on her desk, a bit of shining emerald against the old wood. The tortoise was caught in the act of walking with its head held high. “Thank you for coming this morning. It meant everything to me,” Cesare said.

Without pulling her eyes off the small creature, her smile softened. A single finger caressed down the little one’s head. “I thought a lot about what you said. I may not sit next to you … but I can still help you. This one seems … different from the others.”

Cesare laughed, watching her soft fingers pet the tortoise. “The others were simple. This little guy took me over a week to get right.”

“You ready, Liz?” Viktor’s silhouette dominated the doorway. Cesare faced the man, blocking Viktor’s view, while Elizabeth hid the tortoise in a drawer.

On his way toward the door, Cesare cast his parting words over his shoulder. “Thanks for the help, Miss Raven.”

“You’re welcome, and don't be afraid to come and see me if you have questions.” It was a casual dismissal said as she gathered her stuff.

“Hey Cesare, why don't you walk with us? We’re going the same way.” There was something in Viktor's voice. The man knew, there was no way to hide the bruises that discolored skin or the black eyes and split lips Cesare showed up with.

Elizabeth took Cesare's side as they left her class, keeping him between the two teachers. It was casually done with meaning for only the two of them. Words were treacherous, meaningless things of mangled air, but she backed them with actions. Viktor was an acquaintance, but Cesare was her friend.

“Miss Raven, can I use the cottage for my project with Anastasia?” Cesare asked.

Elizabeth looked over with a slight frown. “Will she be in the cottage with you? Or are you just picking up supplies?”

“Both, probably.” Cesare needed to start work on the materials. That meant a lot of work and none of it could be hurried.

Elizabeth thought for a moment. “You can use the cottage, but I’d appreciate it if you kept her outside unless I’m there.” It was half statement and half question.

“That works, I'll make sure she stays outside.”

“It's just a shed, Liz. I don't know why you freak out like it’s a guy trying to spread your legs,” Viktor said without sparing the woman a look.

The cottage was her fortress. Elizabeth lived in a world of degrading eyes, spiteful whispers stalking her every step, looking for flesh to violate. Humiliation was seared into every mistake, shame the drowning waters they forced her to swim in. The cottage was where she could retreat, where she could take off the masks the world stitched to her face. Until you’d lived a life where eyes cut, mouths spewed acid, and hate was in every word, you couldn’t understand the soul deep peace of having a sanctuary.

Elizabeth glared at Viktor. “You wouldn't understand. And don't call me Liz.” Sharpened and honed, the words cut into the man. Viktor looked away, putting miles between them without leaving their side.

Cesare’s hand brushed Elizabeth's, his fingers gently gliding over her skin. Elizabeth’s eyes lit with pleasure, a shy smile flitting across her face.

“I'm sorry, Viktor.” She sighed. “But you don't understand what it's like. Everyone hates me for things I've never done. They talk behind my back and call me names when they think I can't hear. You’re adored, looked on as a god by the males and a sex idol by the women. You don't have to struggle to get the courtesy they’d give a dog. My cottage is my refuge; I don't want someone in there that thinks …” She looked away, unable to finish. Cesare’s hand brushed hers again, longer this time, but still fleeting.

Viktor grimaced. “I'm sorry. I don't know what you go through. But I know that shed means a lot to you. I should’ve been more careful.”

Cesare broke ranks with them once they entered the cafeteria. He was glad Elizabeth didn't close the gap between her and Viktor. Was he worried about Elizabeth spending time with Viktor? What was to worry about? The man was built like an underwear model and radiated a gut wrenching sexuality that had every woman he met looking for the nearest bed. What was there for Cesare to worry about?

Anastasia was waiting in the hall as he finished his class with Tamlin. Lost in thought, she didn’t notice him coming out. Not everyone can be a killer, some are born to it, others are butchered into the mold of a murderer. Anastasia wasn’t a killer, but her dreams were forcing her to be one. The only way she’d climb to the top was if she built a temple of corpses to stand on.

Cesare backed away from his dark thoughts. “I know who you’re fighting.” It took her a moment to catch up with him, shock stilling her body. Sliding into step with him, she eyed him intently.

She held the question until they were out of school. “Who?”

Cesare kept a good pace, leading her outside the castle and onto the campus. Her seething eyes never wavered from him, pride holding her tongue from asking again. He needed to get her somewhere private to deal with the meltdown.

“Who?” Anastasia asked, pride dying under fears claws.

The harem formed a hard wall of flesh and temper around her as she stopped, unwilling to move an inch until she was answered. Taking her anger as their own, the harem closed ranks with Cesare on the outside. Servants licking the hand of their mistress. They’d never have her respect, even as she used them up. She was a goddess, and the divine didn’t cry, they didn’t hurt. Anything less than perfect would see her torn apart by her pretty pets.

Cesare had spent weeks putting the harem in the ground. He called on the hate that seethed below the skin of his soul, a raw need to destroy, a flame birthed from the womb of degradation. Cesare locked eyes with the boy in front of him, flinching away, the boy stumbled to the side. It was enough of an opening to slide through their circle of stupid.

He met Anastasia's glaring eyes. “Hoarfrost, a wendigo.” Anastasia swayed, face draining of color. Cesare wrapped his arms around her as terror tore her apart from the inside, ripping her guts with piranha teeth. Clutching him to her, she buried her head in his shoulder.

The wendigo was a thing of nightmares, a creature born through evil, gleeful in its depravity. It would come to feast on her sweet meat. If she won, it would be because she killed it. There was no middle ground in this fight.

She trembled in his arms, her whimpered words barely louder than a baby’s breath. “I can't … I just … I can't … please … don't make me …”

She held him close, her only lifeline in a sea of horror. His voice was a whisper of comfort as he gently ran his hand through her hair. “You don’t have to fight. No one’s going to force you.” Holding her, he wove a blanket of care around the girl with his words, a tempest of love shielding her from the worlds grasping hands.

In fits and starts, she mastered the shaking tremors. Molding her body into his, she tried to escape the terror by burrowing into his skin.

“They’re supposed to be rare! Blaez told me that of all the creatures he’s heard of, it’s the wendigo that keeps him up at night. Blaez! The man who had his face melted off, and laughed about it! Werewolves hunt the bastards in packs because they won’t chance taking one on alone. Blaez told me they have stories of werewolves being kept for months, even years, as living meat being eaten alive over and over again until their bodies give out!” She was working up to a bat shit crazy fit.

“It's okay. You can stay here.” His hand hadn’t, couldn’t, stop stroking through her wavy crimson hair. The feel of it between his fingers sent tingles through his body. Soft and luxurious, her hair filled his hand with a greedy need to be caressed, weaving around his fingers, matching him caress for caress. Its life spoke of a nature other than human. Cesare instantly fell in love with it, delighting in the feathery feel of the strands that played over his skin.

“Give the word and we'll tell the Thagirion to eat shit,” Cesare whispered, scarlet hair tracing his face with delighted tendrils.

Anastasia shivered. “If I quit … will you …”

“Nothing you do will change my support. Nothing. I don't care if you’re with the Thagirion or not. I care about you, not who your mom is or what you are.” A scarlet wave of hair engulfed his hand, teasing his flesh. The other hand moved to the small of her back, holding her close.

“No one, and I mean no one, is going to make you fight this thing.” The words soaked into her, chains snapping around the biting terror ravaging her heart.

“You've got a plan.” Hope and faith intertwined in her voice.

“I do, but that doesn't mean you have to do it. We can tell them to fuck off. Or, we can continue walking and I'll show you my plan. Then you can decide if you want to fight or not,” Cesare offered.

Anastasia stepped back, hands sliding down his sides, they caressed over hard ribs before settling on his hips. Her hair tightened around his hand, refusing to let it go. The hand he’d placed at the small of her back fell away awkwardly.

Her eyes searched his. “You think I have a chance?”

“I wouldn't put you in a fight I thought you’d lose.”

Anastasia nodded, her arm wrapped around his waist as she tucked herself into his side. Woven tightly around his hand, her hair prevented him from pulling back, even if he’d wanted to. A shiver wound down his body at the perfectness of the moment.

Cesare walked with Anastasia toward the cottage. She had a boyfriend, a guy that should be in Cesare’s spot, holding her close, feeling the fireside warmth of her curves pressed into his body. A better man would have said something, but Cesare had never been a good man.

Joined at the hip with his fingers playing through her hair, she kept her arm cinched around his waist, hand gripping his hip. Fury tightened the faces of the harem. They revered Anastasia, the daughter of Lady Kali, a goddess given flesh. She wasn’t allowed to fear, it was sacrilege to even think it. Hate snapped in their eyes, they’d seen the clay feet of their goddess and they’d never forgive him for it.

“The wendigo's a thing of madness. A being that belongs to a time when the world was meat. Its appetite wedded to teeth and claws. When you face it … you put it down hard.” The words were honed on the whetstone of ruthlessness.

Tangled in each other’s arms, Cesare guided them to a seat outside the cottage. “We'll have two plans. Both are based on exploiting its heightened senses.”

“I knew a guy on the streets who had a blind dog. The thing is, it was hard to tell it was blind. The dog could smell and hear the world around it so well that you’d never guess its eyes were dead. Humans are slaves to their sight, but animals use their senses differently.” Snuggled into his side, his words were whispers of air that washed over the girl's face.

“Deception’s the only weapon in war. You’ll blind the thing with a flash grenade. In those seconds of blindness, you'll kill the wendigo.” Cesare pulled out an egg from his pack. Throwing the egg across the field, it exploded in a flash of blinding light. The harem flinched back from the blast of white, exchanging uneasy looks.

“Once its sight's gone, we'll use its senses against it. You’ll throw a bag that smells like you at the wendigo betting that its sense of smell will set off its instincts. Then you’ll ignite the bag,” Cesare said.

“Wendigo's are resistant to fire.”

Cesare smiled savagely. “Resistance isn’t immunity. A bonfire’s a little over one thousand degrees Fahrenheit. Thermite burns in excess of four thousand degrees Fahrenheit. That’s hot enough to melt steel.”

“The bag will be filled with this thermite?” Anastasia questioned.

“It comes in powder form. Hopefully, the wendigo will split the bag, covering himself in the powder. Once you ignite it, he'll be covered in flames that vaporize flesh on contact.”

“You think this thermite will kill it?” She’d made the transition of every mass murderer, the turning of people into meat. It wasn’t a him or a her, only an it.

Cesare smiled. “I think it’ll put it down, allowing you to go in for the kill. Once the thermite flares, you’ll bath the monster in acidic Ebon Flame. The goals to overwhelm its regeneration.” Thermite would be enough for anything human, but not for a nightmare birthed to diseased flesh.

“And Plan B?” Anastasia asked, voice wavering.

“Wait here, I need to grab something from the cottage.” Anastasia reluctantly let him go, hand caressing across his hip as he left. Her hair tightened, weaving through his fingers. It was … nice … to be wanted so completely. His fingers were held tight, feathered strokes of crimson hair begging him to stay. Anastasia flushed, closing her eyes in concentration as she forced the hair to unwind from his hand.

It had been something of an impulse to have Anastasia buy it. He’d hesitated over the order, but had finally given in to the urge. He weighed the pink and black rubber in his hand before heading back out to her.

The harem met him with hard eyes from where they'd reformed around Anastasia. Cesare's muscles loosened in preparation, hips rolling with each step, lethal readiness given form. Resolve crystallized in Cesare, baneful intent biting the air. With a stuttering movement, they opened the circle under his unspoken threat.

Anastasia watched the game of dominance with narrowed eyes. She wrapped an arm around his hip as he got close, pulling him down beside her as she cuddled into his side. It was only natural for his hand to move into that mass of fiery hair. The strands of silk wantonly welcomed his flesh, tendrils dancing eagerly across his skin.

He was careful not to look at her. “Do you want to talk about this?”

“No.” The word said everything he needed to know. This was a onetime thing, forgotten and discarded as soon as it wasn’t needed.

Sighing, he handed over the pink and purple gas mask with the stylized kitten on it. “You'll carry this with you in case we need to fall back on Plan B. I’ll equip you with three two-liter bottles filled with Chlorine Gas. It’s perfect for the wendigo. The caustic gas destroys the respiratory system: lungs, nose, and throat. The more he moves, the more it eats the soft flesh. You'll be armed with three shaped charges. While it's fighting the thermite and gas, you’ll throw the charges and get the fuck out of dodge.”

Anastasia looked down thoughtfully. “If you’re wrong, that thing will eat my guts while the school laughs.”

“I’d never let that happen.”

Her mouth twisted in derision. “And how would you stop it?”

Anger surged inside him, running like poison in his veins. A desperate need to hurt her for voicing the truth he couldn’t face. At that moment, Cesare hated her. He hated her with a passion that burned and twisted like a live thing inside him, barbed and thrashing it cut trenches in his soul.

He was weak. The only reason he’d won against her harem was because they hadn't faced him in the fullness of their truth. Their true forms would have torn him apart, a puppy thrown to a pod of Humboldt squids, nothing but food.

Anastasia wouldn’t even notice him, an ant scurrying under the feet of a hyena, beneath its notice. She’d destroy him like the cockroach he was, disgust the only thing she’d take away from his death.

He couldn’t save her, and she knew it. That left him with only the truth that rang as a single note in his soul. “I’d still come for you.”

“You would die,” Anastasia said flatly.

“Then I’d die trying to protect a friend. As far as ways to go, it's as good as any other,” Cesare said just as flatly.

She shook her head. “I believe you would … even if you ran to your death.” Something moved through her eyes, disappearing in the darkness of a sin born soul. “Do you think we can win?”

“I think you can win.” He locked eyes with her, willing her to believe him. “You’re the one putting your life on the line. I'm only … evening the odds.”

Anastasia had a distant look in her eyes. It was her choice. It would be her blood that stained the field and her flesh glutting the appetite of the wendigo.

“How do we train?” It wasn’t a yes, only an offer to try.

“Break it into steps, each one easily mastered. Tonight, we work on your throwing arm for the flash grenade.” Cesare said, standing. Anastasia moved away from him, her face a mask of concentration as crimson hair reluctantly released his hand.

She fell into her thoughts, the world fading away while the harem pushed Cesare out of her space with hate slithering through their eyes. The harem was stuck in a trap of their own making. Time would break their devotion, shattered pieces revealing the girl under the illusion they held holy. Their malice would consume their devotion, birthing itself in the carcass of the devoured lie.

Anastasia was the ideal student to train. From the first step into the training area, she was focused completely on him. She knew her next opponent wouldn’t be another teenager fighting for glory and pride. She’d be fighting a monster among monsters, a creature that gloried in agony.

Cesare emptied the bag of rocks he’d gathered along the way. “All we’re working on today is throwing the flash grenade. You've got good aim, now you’re going to use that to place these rocks where I tell you to.” He looked at the sullen group of boys by the entrance. “And they'll be your target.”

“Get up,” Anastasia’s command straightened spines, eyes shining with worship. Someday they’d turn on her, but that day wasn’t today.

Cesare addressed the plastic boys. “We can’t count on the wendigo to stand still so you'll trade off as the bait.” The training was worthless if they didn’t try to avoid the rocks.

Hours later, Anastasia’s hair hung listless, it’s vibrant crimson dulled a deep copper, her spandex shorts and sports bra blackened with sweat, arms trembling with exhaustion. She dropped the rock with a gusty sigh when he called a stop to the session.

“You did good.” She gave him a tired smile, shoulders squaring as she straightened. “Now comes the part you’ll hate. I need you to wear that outfit every day we train without washing it.”

Anastasia's mouth dropped open, eyes wide. “You mean … all week?”

He nodded. “You don't have to wear it to school but when we train and when you sleep, you need to wear it … along with anything under it.” Disgust filled her eyes. Wearing the same workout clothes was bad enough, but having to wear used underwear along with it …

“Why?” she demanded.

“Work it out for yourself. Do you trust me?” Her eyes softened at the question.

“Yes.”

“Then do it. You’ve had a hard day, start your meditation.”

An hour later Anastasia walked away with a barely controlled stagger, exhaustion weighing down her steps. Thoughts of the impending fight filled his mind as he walked back to the Serpens Lacum, trajectories and psychology ran alongside timetables for manufacturing the things Anastasia would need.

He stopped at the coarse sound of wings flapping, eyes searching the night for the ones that called it home. A unkindness of ravens flew in from the sky, cawing and flapping, they boiled out of the stygian night in a baleful cloud of black. Ebony birds swirled, feathers bleeding into a maelstrom of midnight, beaks flashing in the moonlight, claws glinting in beams of silver, eyes voids in the world. Collapsing inward, the shapes warped and smoothed, shifting along lines of madness until snapping into Elizabeth’s lush form.

“Impressive,” Cesare said, noticing he’d inadvertently taken a step back. “Did you do it to impress me?”

Elizabeth blushed. “Maybe.”

“Well, you succeeded. That's one hell of an entrance.”

“She decided to fight?” Elizabeth asked from beside him, both of them taking the walk at a glacial pace. The moment was worth treasuring, and he meant to suck the marrow from its bones before he set the skeleton into the ground of the past. The ravens were shadows within shadows around them, dancing through spears of moonlight, they cut their way through the canopy of the trees.

“She decided to train for the fight.” The difference wasn't lost on Elizabeth. “I don't think she knows what she's going to do. This way she keeps her options open.”

“And you?” A wry smile flickered across her face. “Oh, come on. I know you won't stand back and watch the akatharton die. You expect me to save you, don't you?”

He gave her a sidelong look, sharing her amused smile. “Well, it'd be nice.”

“While you save the beautiful princess, I'm supposed to come to your rescue like what? Your mother?” The amused smile fell from her face.

“It bothers you,” Cesare said.

“I'm old enough to be your mother. And she's very much your age.” She was careful not to talk about why it stressed her.

“Lust means nothing more than dogs fucking. I care about you, not your age.” There will always be pretty girls and handsome men, chasing pretty only gets you shallow friends and cheating lovers.

It helped that she wanted to believe it, needed to believe it, but what sold it was that he meant it. She looked away, hiding the flush of color that climbed her cheeks. “It won't come to that. Lady Kali won't stand by and watch her daughter be eaten alive. And no wendigo will take you from me. If that thing makes a move on you, I’ll bury it a mile down. The arenas as much a part of me as my own hand. Nothing and no one can challenge me on my land.” Power thickened the air, a fey thing of forests and land, of places beyond the sight of man, and realms were insanity ruled and gods played.

She was so much more than him, had done so much more than he had. It was times like this when he drowned in the realization. No plans or fights. No homework or worries. No treacherous hopes and twice dead dreams. Without those serpents dominating his mind, he could see her for who she truly was. A professional with multiple master's degrees and a life she’d carved out of the shit the world had buried her in. She wasn’t finding herself or fighting for her dreams, she’d achieved them.

“I wish …” Elizabeth watched silently, waiting for Cesare to find the words. “I wish I could give you what you deserve. I wish I could make you see how special you are, how wonderful. I wish I was older, better looking, and had something to offer you besides ugliness.”

“Where were you when I was sixteen?” Summed up in that question was the gauntlet of degradation and pain she’d run and the unspeakable longing for someone, anyone, to love her.

Even outcast’s dream, even the lost want to be treated as if they're special. You still want that first love and first kiss, to go on that first date with the popular girl. But outcasts can only watch as everyone else gets what they'd bleed to touch. They watch as others make the friends they'd begged for. They gasp in darkness, smothered by the shit the world has buried them in. Fairytale lives free of the skinning scalpel of humiliation and degradation of loneliness, the knowing you were worth nothing to no one.

“Wish I could have been, but I can't go back ... not to heal you and not to heal myself.”