X.

Whisper’s pack scoured the woods outside Breeze Tower, the city’s varied lights twinkling through the trees in the distance like fireflies. Despite the pack’s protests, Moss joined them. The druí Mender had done her work well, and Moss’ innate rapid healing had her back on her feet the next day. A few dizzy spells and overall fatigue were easily hidden as she poured over her notes, struggling to unravel the final stubborn knots of her twisted case.

They had searched for Chains’ dreams. When they couldn’t find them, they had accepted two possibilities. He had been injured so severely his mind had gone to a place beyond dreaming, or he was dead. They didn’t mention the third option–upon seeing Moss’ injuries, he had gone feral.

While Moss didn’t discount the possibility, she had worked beside the pup since coming to the city. She had seen the young man grow, and despite a bristling against authority, a trait common to most youth, not just those with lycanthropic blood, he had a passion for their work fueled by a gift for it.

Moss planned to find her partner alive and sane.

Whatever he had found, or had found him, his trail led outside the city. As did that of the young man from Liar’s Square. Both trails led into the forest, converged, and then vanished. Goodman Plait’s stink had suffused the seamstress’ shop after the graveling attack. The others believed he had led the gravelings and seen her dying but hadn’t had the stomach to finish her.

Moss wasn’t so sure. That uncertainty rankled her more than the graveling attack, her injuries, and Chains’ disappearance combined.

She lagged at the back of the pack, nose full of the night air. The pregnant moon overhead was a good sign. Though it no longer fueled their transformation as it had their ancestors, the moon increased the power of those lycanthropes who learned to tap into its energy. For Moss it was like satiating her thirst with fog. At first, it had been impossible. Over time she had learned to condense the moon’s energy, to filter it like a scent or sound.

With her senses heightened above their normal range, she heard Whisper huffing orders to Mountain and Claws at the front. Moss had tried to keep up with her mate. Only minutes into the thick woods, her body had reminded her how much of a toll battle and the subsequent healing had taken. While the rest of the pack pulled further ahead, she paused, four paws drawing comfort from the dew moistened ground.

Eyes closed, she breathed in through her nose and held it until her lungs ached. She imagined sending the air throughout her body, and as she did, the moon’s energy spread through her, invigorating tired muscles and removing some of her fatigue. The breath escaped past the sharp teeth of her open mouth, obscuring her vision with a puff of fog.

Inhale. Hold. Release.

A scent cut through her meditation like her claws through a salmon’s soft scales. The damp of a cave. Mushroom spores. Gravelings and death. Madness.

Mixed amongst it all, the familiar odor of her partner. And blood.

Moss didn’t pause to consider why none of the pack’s other members had noticed. Chains’ presence, his spilt blood, demanded her attention like fire spreading up the walls. She growled, called the others’ names, but she couldn’t know if they heard. She marked her progress through the forest with scratches on every tenth tree she passed. Rather than fight her concern and anger, she allowed negative emotions to overflow until they must have sprayed into the night air like a skunk’s perfume.

When she arrived, the cave mouth yawned empty where it dipped into the earth. Chains was close, his spilled blood now a collar around her neck, pulling her into the cave. The air thickened as she galloped down a wide pebble-strewn slope, splashing through thin puddles. The cave opened into a large chamber just beyond the entrance. A campfire burned on a patch of stone off-center.

A confident male voice spoke, presumably to Chains…who didn’t reply. Goodman Plait sat upon a stool near the fire a few short strides ahead, no weapons in sight. Moss recognized the tool in his hands, the one given to him by the wood shaper. A small pile of wood sat at the edges of the campfire’s light, and he worked a large wooden shape in his hands. To her surprise, it was a bear.

Chains was secured to the cave wall with thick iron bands around wrists, ankles, and neck. Blood-stained bandages criss-crossed her partner’s bare skin. He wasn’t moving.

It takes much more to anger a werebear than a wolf or cat, but if you can manage it, the fury released is explosive. Moss roared, opening her mouth to its fullest as if she would swallow all within the cave. Spittle flew from her mouth. When she charged, she wouldn’t have been surprised if the ground cracked.

At the furthest edges of conscious thought, she still found the presence of mind to hold back, not allowing anger to overwhelm her completely. She would give her life for Chains, but she wouldn’t sacrifice her humanity for anything. Not even, as much as she loved her, for Whisper.

Invisible bindings wrapped themselves around Moss, stopping her in her tracks. They forced her to an upright position. At the same time, her transformation melted away. She tried to hold to her bestial form, but it was hot silver. When the young man was done casting his spells, Moss could only draw shallow breaths, naked and wrapped in a cocoon of magic.

Goodman Plait strode forward, any traces of his cowardice from the alleyway gone. Without his cloak, which lay near the pile of wood, he moved like a warrior and looked the part. He wore a sword at his hip and armor of an unfamiliar material across his chest. It had overlapping scales, but she’d never seen a lizard large enough to match their size. A matching pair of bracers adorned his lower arms, and his muscles were well-defined where visible outside of his black linen shirt.

Meanwhile, Moss was naked. Her clothes were at the guardhouse, and though she hadn’t balked at the watchmen’s eyes, averted out of shame but wandering back to her and Whisper’s well-toned physiques, the thought of this madman apprising her naked form sent shivers up her spine. The youth, silver hair aglow in his campfire’s ebbing light, seemed embarrassed looking upon her nakedness. But not enough to look away. For a moment his eyes crawled up her legs, across her belly, and paused on her breasts.

He overcame his shock quickly enough and looked into her eyes. When he drew close, slipping the wood shaping tool into a pocket, the man’s madness assaulted her nose, filling it with stinging nettles. Yet, despite his words in Liar’s Square, he hadn’t given any outward indication of being insane.

He spoke as if confiding in a friend.

“Excuse me, Detective. I didn’t expect…” After a moment of concentration, he summoned smoke which encircled her body. His earlier confidence was gone, replaced by a youth’s uncertainty and awkwardness. “That’s the best I can do at the moment without freeing you from your bonds. I thought your kind wore special clothes to accommodate your change.”

How could he speak to her so calmly after she had charged into his lair, ready to tear him apart? Despite Chains’ condition, Goodman Plait wasn’t treating her as an enemy, more like an unexpected guest. Which made sense. Moss suspected she wouldn’t have found this place if the young man hadn’t wanted her to.

Moss hesitated to speak, tested her jaw, and found it free of the magic constricting her from head to toe.

“We only wear such garments in the city,” she said, matching his genial tone with some difficulty. Her words came out half-growled as she fought down her anger.

“I understand your rage, but Chains lives,” Ash said, confident once more, gaze flickering to her partner for a moment. “He’s a credit to your kind, tracking me nearly to this place before one of my associates ambushed him. By Chaur, he’s magnificent! Held his own against quite a few well-trained opponents. He could have a place in my army. A place of power, no longer a pup beholden to alphas. I lured you here to offer you the same.”

“Never,” she barked.

“Because you fear the darkness which once consumed you. Not many come back from being feral. If the Balancers don’t find you, an angry mob usually does. Sometimes others of your own kind destroy you lest they see a reflection of themselves in your bloody red eyes. More likely, they fear your power, finally unleashed from society’s constraints.”

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Chains knew of her past, as did the entire pack, but she wanted to believe nothing could have pried that information from her partner. She had been reborn upon her induction into the pack, given a new name and her past forgiven and forgotten. No, something had changed in the man as he spoke of her time as feral. He was more akin to the well-spoken orator in Liar’s Square who had only turned into a frightened young man when confronted in the alley.

And his use of words like “unleashed” and “constraints” was too close an echo of her own feelings.

Who was this man, really? Physical power was meaningless at the moment. Moss needed to be the detective, so she considered his words more carefully.

“What’s your real name?” she asked.

“My real name is Ash,” he said with a slight bow. “I’ve been watching you.”

“You mentioned an army,” she recalled. “You’re Unmaker’s new champion.” Which explained the smell of madness. “The name fits. Ash. Though it’s a bit obvious, isn’t it? Ash of the Ashen Lands. The cats would love that.” Moss couldn’t help but chuckle. “If you gave them free reign to taunt you, they would join in droves simply to poke fun at your name.”

Thoughts of the cats made connections in her head. Unmaker held sway over the minds of beasts. It stood to reason his champion could wield a similar power.

“You said you’ve been watching me. It was the rats at first, wasn’t it? But the cats have been exterminating them, so you relied on roaches. They’re all over our station. The roach crawling across my slate board--I thought it was watching me. That was you!”

As if appraising her anew, Ash silently stared at her for a long time. His concentration was similar to the way she’d seen others of the pack focus on clues when trying to solve a case.

“You’re remarkable,” he said. Moss’ skin crawled at the compliment. “Gailinn may have denied me many of the hobs, safe on their bridges with whatever magic trinkets she has given them, but I will have your strength. One by one I’ll gather you to my side.”

“It won’t work. Not this time,” she said. “You would ask us to join in your fight against the Radiance? Against Gailinn, who gave us what we’ve always secretly yearned for?”

“What can the Radiance offer that I cannot?” Ash asked, appearing genuinely puzzled. “Haven’t you been searching for a place to belong?”

“Of course,” Moss said. “Who isn’t? But we always had it.”

As he considered her words, Ash retrieved his cloak. For a moment it looked as though he would reach for the bear carving, his hand paused nearby like a hovering insect, but he stood and shrugged into the cloak.

“Your pack,” he said as if it were a profound realization. “But even they can’t possibly understand your murderous past, can they?”

Whatever power had allowed Ash to suppress her bear form, it hadn’t cut her off from the moon’s strength. As he waited for her answer, Moss opened herself to lunar reflections within the cave. At the same time, she struggled with his question and how much to share. No one outside the pack knew of her past, but the youth before her seemed so naive. Misguided. The best remedy might be unfiltered truth.

“I had a family that loved me,” she slowly began, “until they were murdered by the bear that gave me its curse. Even then I was a detective, gathering clues, driven by hatred to avenge my parents’ death. And when it was over, I gave myself over to the beast. Whisper saved my life. She gave me a new family, one I chose. They’ve done nothing but strengthen me. I don’t care about the Radiance. Not as it is now, at least. Gailinn sees what it could become, an ideal we’ll never achieve.”

“Exactly! All your struggles are meaningless unless you join me,” Ash trumpeted, missing her point entirely. “With my power, we can wipe away the broken council. We can make the Radiance a perfect place as it was always meant to be.”

“That’s not what Unmaker wants. Can’t you see that? Why would such a creature want peace and harmony when it feeds on conflict? Gailinn didn’t give us a place to belong, Ash. She gave us a purpose. What purpose can you offer us? The chance to kill? To become the bloodthirsty beasts others have always feared us to be?”

He seemed to fight an internal struggle, eyes glassy, before he continued. While he was distracted, Moss drew the moon’s power from trickles of water, mushrooms, and even the rock surrounding them.

“That is my...master’s wish. However, I’ve seen how effective you are as detectives and peacekeepers. I would have you continue in that role as I transform the Radiance.”

“Why me?” she asked.

“You’re the heart. Your cat kin may have eliminated most of the rats, but as you guessed, I have other spies. I watched you struggle through your case, never giving up. I saw how your pack gathered around you when you were injured. Quake and fire, I saw the results of your fight against my gravelings!”

“If I had died, I wouldn’t be fit for your army. First Gailinn and now you--when will the tests end?”

“Life is a series of tests. You have to ride the sway.” He was gone for a breath, lost in memory. At first he cracked the barest smile at what he found there but soon tilted his head, listening to an inner voice. Ash frowned and fixed his jaw. “It wasn’t my test. The gravelings were sent by another, overstepping his bounds. He also ambushed Chains, and when I discovered the werebear, I tried to heal him. It’s a fickle magic, so I bandaged his wounds. I didn’t even know I could heal until I found you near death in Freya’s home.”

Moss’ time as a detective had made her more sensitive to lies. She studied the youth, certain he spoke the truth, and it left her speechless. All his bravado had leaked away, and when he’d mentioned healing her, Ash had quickly turned away, retrieving the bear carving he’d dismissed earlier. He studied it when he spoke again.

“The answer was before you the entire time, but you refused to see it,” Ash said. “Despite your words, you know humans still fear you. Probably always will. And rightly so. You could be so much more than Gailinn’s lap dogs.” He looked about to say more but paused, turning inward once more. It passed a breath later. “Have you really not deduced who is responsible?”

She had. It had always been a lycanthrope, but they hadn’t wanted to admit it.

“If you want to know the truth, seek out Rugner.” Ash spoke the words even as she made the final connections.

Rugner’s sore arm during their meeting in the dream could have been from scissors. Any wound from the silver ring, if healed by magic, would have been lost among so many scars criss-crossing the old werewolf’s face. He could have drawn any packs away from the gravelings’ route through the city, and he’d have known the rain would mask their scent.

It pained her to have been so wrong about the case, but she had a hunch she had been right about Ash. For all his outward confidence, the world was changing in ways the youth couldn’t reconcile. Perhaps the young man was also changing in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

“You would hand him over so easily?” Moss asked. “Even after admitting you wanted us to join your cause?”

“A sign of goodwill,” he said, meeting her eyes once more as he slipped the bear carving beneath his cloak. “Neither of us is what the other assumed.” The youth’s words were directed at Moss, but he seemed to be convincing himself more than her.

Lunar light continued to seep into her, and Moss felt the transformation almost within reach. She probably couldn’t break the magic holding her, but her nose told her she wouldn’t have to.

“Do you know how noisy werewolves are when they hunt?” she asked. Ash didn’t understand, that much was clear on his face. “They’re deafening with their infernal howls. But me and mine, despite our greater size, can be exceedingly stealthy.”

That seed of doubt within Ash tugged on her conscience. Though Moss shouldn’t have warned him, she had once been in a dark place, a realm of black and blood. Whisper had found her and shown her the cracks where light crept through, like the barest sliver of a new moon. Ash’s evil intentions had a single crack, and if he didn’t die in the next few breaths, he might one day claw through to the light.

Whisper and Mountain charged into the cave, their growls putting hers to shame. She recognized and followed them by sound and smell, still frozen with her back to the entrance. The rest of the pack wasn’t far behind. Ash’s magic still held her, but the transformation hovered a hair’s breadth away.

Ash didn’t seem surprised to see the werebears. With uncanny speed, he pushed Whisper back with a blast of energy. It barely budged Mountain. The young man disappeared, all color draining from where he stood. At the same time, the cave collapsed directly above Moss, the roof meeting the floor in a rush of stone and dirt. Mountain roared, not in pain, but in anger at his prey’s escape.

Moss stood in the darkness, still frozen. Whatever kept her from moving, it had also protected her from the cave-in, to a degree. She was buried beneath a pile of earth and stone.

The cave exhaled a long breath as it settled.

“One by one I’ll have you.” Ash’s voice reached her sensitive ears from somewhere above. “It’s already begun.”

While she waited for the others to dig her out, Moss probed at the mysteries surrounding Ash. He could have killed her, could have released his magic and ended her. Whisper had been thrown free of the cave before it collapsed. Very little could slow down Mountain. Even Chains continued to breathe, feeble though his hold to life was. Apparently he had also saved her life after the graveling attack.

There had been talk of expanding the lycanthropes’ roles, of designating highly skilled individuals to investigate crimes throughout the whole of the Radiance rather than being tied to a single city. Such a job wasn’t expected to be created for at least a year or two as the lycanthropes built trust, but Ash posed the kind of threat that necessitated such a job.

Deep down she knew Ash represented a complex puzzle. And who better to solve it?

XI.

The next day, sifting through the building which had served as Rugner’s headquarters, Moss found Freyn’s scissors. She had no doubt he had wanted them to be discovered. But to what end? Rugner had vanished, taking his pack and one other with him. Ash had gathered support for his battle against Gailinn. Dark days lay ahead.

Chains was healing, though he hadn’t woken yet. They couldn’t reach him in the dream. He might never fully recover.

Still, slipping the scissors into her pouch, Moss couldn’t help but smile.