Jezebel turned her head from the sleepy dream. Her eyes were blurry, the lights formed a kind of yellow streak as she dragged her head around.

She looked to her rear, for she had the urge though did not understand why and opening her eyes wider, found the reason there; her arm was severed.

Jezebel screamed. Banged her head in the back of her bed frame. She cried. Doors opened. The gushing, squirting, burning all coming to her at once.

Then hands. A myriad of hands and people whispering and gently asking her, 'to please relax.'

She fell asleep again. Not by choice.

♣

"You're awake?" She heard a voice. Vision came later, blurred once again. The dragging glow of lights reminding her of that day, two days ago. She looked around, extended both arms, one of which was a stump she realized immediately. She looked to her right and saw it. It still surprised her, even after a few days of sleep.

"You healed real fast. All of your body has healed real fast," It was Luanne, she recognized it now. "Your brand has stopped acting up too. You haven't bled since, well..."

Her eyes pointed to Jezebel's stump.

Of course, she hadn't bled. She had sacrificed so much to make sure she would not bleed, not lose control, not become anything but deadly. And already, waking up, she could see strange mental images; glyphs, knowledge, experience she never had and never had the opportunity to have. It was like someone was injecting information into her. Through dreams. Through sleep.

She looked at her stump, the daze of waking up still on her face, a slouching mouth, drooling lips, drooping eyelids. She brought her stump close to her face. It was bandaged at the end, they were clean and white and comfortable. How many hours have I spent here? How much wasted time?

"Did mom come see me?"

"No, she's dealing with Floyd."

"What's wrong with him?"

"I really don't want to tell you, you'd have to see him yourself."

"See what?" Jezebel arose. Her naked feet touched the floor, the cold wood that sent a shiver up her leg.

"Don't tell me you're going to move already? You've been bedridden for nearly a week." Her voice hastened. She sounded out of breath, the infant in her arms coming alive with quick outbursts of screams and slaps. "And now, you're missing an arm. An Arm! And I don't know why and mom told me not to ask why and you're just going to walk up and-"

"I'm fine," Jezebel came up from her rested position so that the light was directly shining down the top of her scalp. "I'm more than fine. I'm great. Don't think I've ever been better."

"What happened?" She asked.

"Didn't mom ask you not to ask?"

Luanne bit her lips and drew blood.

"I've got a right to know." She said, tense and quiet.

Jezebel did not answer. She walked past her sister, put on a coat hanging by the main door and out, to the damn halls that echoed with the slap of her naked feet. Her body caked with a layer of grease and grit. She had no makeup on, not that she put much on anyway. All to her slender form was the white gown, a bandaged arm and a black coat that covered her down to her knees.

Yet she felt strong. Incredibly so. Fast too, and was she thinking sharper? Or more concentrated? It was strange. It was like she could see details and colors she would never find in a million years. Looking down for example, at the wild carpet and the intricate flower patterns, she could see new shapes, pictures within the pictures with a fidelity almost microscopic. Scents, sounds too, were clearer. More defined. This a world she awakened to with new sensory information.

She was heading to meet her brother. She wanted, above all else, a decision on what to do. To kill or not. And if so, whom?

Entering the elevator, swiping her card, she immediately realized she was not allowed access to her mother's floor. Which was strange, especially when she heard the alarm go off like a siren when she tried to stop on her floor.

She went to Floyd then. A floor below. To Floyd, who had one whole level to himself. And upon entering this level, she became wary. Hesitated to walk. There was granite rubble and sharp stones and rough surfaces all across the floor. Like knives of stone had been propped up for her. Worse even was the terribly deformed floor. There were large streaks of shaved stone as if a rake had been dragged across the floor and walls and ceiling to rip it apart. She looked around. Long pillars that once lined a gallery of art that lead to Floyd's bedroom were now destroyed. Or transformed. They looked warped, stretched out like puddy into strange strings and arcs and curved, bizarre forms. She took a step forward and felt a sharp rock lodge into her flesh. It made her wince. But not much else. She raised the foot to her hand and removed the stone and watched the blood trickle down. Then stop. Then steam and heat, the red steam blowing past her face until all that remained was black, dried blood and a freshly healed wound. It was discolored, a lighter shade of her skin tone.

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Strangely, she wasn't surprised. She walked to her brother's room, her feet cutting and healing all the while. And approaching, she could hear the subtle sounds even through the thick layer of wall. Of screaming, of tired breathing, of smacking. Then, something more terrible. A screech of earth shifting, as if mountains were colliding.

She took a deep breath and put both hands against the door. She opened it. Floyd's savage eyes turned to her. He shot out a pillar. A spike of granite. Jezebel saw it approach, slowly. As if time came to a crawl. She did not stumble, did not hesitate. Her body became transparent in an instant. The pole went through her, or her through the pole (it was hard to tell). It shot out behind her, this javelin of marble, and injected itself by the side of a wall. It sprung left and right with a ding noise.

Floyd turned, wide-eyed, now deliberating at what he had done.

"Sorry," He said. He meant it too."I thought you were someone else."

She reformed. Her body, sweating.

"Like who?"

"Like Richter. Or Turnus. Or Aenea. Or those two fuckers," He clenched his fist and slammed them into the floor. The movement of course that caused the whole floor to shake and for the marble to push aside like opposite ocean waves. "Those fuckers!"

A control over stone? Is that it?

"How'd you make this mess?" She asked.

"What?" Floyd put his hands on his head. "Oh? This?" His hands extended out as if to display the chaos. Granite and gravel, strange formations of stone. It looked like roots had taken grip of the room, along with crystalline growths. Devouring everything. "Don't ask me about this. It doesn't matter? Who cares? There are bigger problems."

"Did the brand give you this? Do you even have one?"

"Do I have my brand," He repeated in mockery, laughing even. "Do I have my brand? Do I ever!"

He flashed his arm.

"I know you've got yours too, took you out for days, didn't it?"

"Yeah," She said. The sleeve of one of her coat dangled, her missing limb now visible through the curtain fall of her sleeve. "Took more than just sleep, too."

"I can see that," He said. "But it's not bad!" He said enthusiasm showed through his voice. His eyes, still very crazed though. "We can fight now, we can kill those bastards!"

"You want us to fight too? Like mom?"

"Fuck mother," Floyd said. "Fuck her, fuck her!"

"What's gotten into you? Hmm? They've told me you were acting erratic and I'm starting to see why."

"Who told you? Mom? Luanne? Fuck them."

"What's your problem with them?"

"Goals. That's the problem at the end of the day, goals." He said. "She's been acting strange you know that? More concerned with winning the war, she calls it. More concerned with conquering and taking the throne. She calls it."

"Yeah, I know." Jezebel looked for a seat to sit on. She realized all the furniture was in pieces on the floor and instead looked for a little wedge on the floor. It was a protrusion of marble stone in the shape of a seat. "She kept talking about the Wolfe name. Not about the family, but about the name."

"Fuck the Wolfe name too," Floyd said. "Fuck the family. What's it worth when we can't even help our own? Fuck everything but revenge."

"Revenge?"

"What else? What else do we have? We've been embarrassed twice." He said. "We've let them walk all over us and here's mother, talking so much big talk about avenging Junior but not doing anything about it. She wants us to be patient, to strike right. Fuck that. This deliberation, this concern with the plan. Fuck all that shit."

"What's got you in a fury all of a sudden?" Was this Mammon's fault too?

Her eyes looked to him, the strange ways he moved, both palms to his temples as he spun in circles in a fury. He didn't even look like he was talking to her by that point.

"I'm scared, don't you see?" He asked. "I'm scared they're gonna hurt everyone else...but mom..." He said, softly, before raising his voice again. "But mom."

He laughed.

"Mom is just worried about winning. She came to me the other day? Do you know what she asked? She asked who I could trust? Who I could fucking trust in my family, she asked me that."

"I didn't know that."

"I wonder what else you don't know about that bitch."

"She just asked me if I'd fight, that's all."

"Of course, she'll play a different song for each person. A real fucking walking jukebox. I'm beginning to think she didn't care about Junior, not as much as she leads on, at least. Well, fuck her."

"What do you think she wants?"

"Whatever Mammon is offering." He said. "The casino. I think she has it figured out that not all of her kids are loyal either and I told Luanne that. That's when she started putting the idea in me that we ought to run away."

"She asked me that too.

"And you said no, of course, right? We've got a score to settle, you know that, right?"

She looked down, the sweat dripped down the side of her forehead.

"I did say no, but I'm getting worried. About everything."

"You gave away your arm to fight, didn't you?"

"I did but..."

"Where would we run?" He asked. "Where would we go, Jezzy?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. And if not that...then who do we kill?"

"Whoever killed Junior, that's who."

"Who would that be? You think you've got it all figured out, but you're just talking and thinking like a madman." She said. "Who killed Junior and where's your evidence?"

"The fucking heart-eaters, who else?" He waved his hand again, in a rage, as if sweeping off a bug. The very movement caused the marble to rise like a geyser in front of him. Wood fragments of furniture, feathers from pillows, rose with the fountain. It hit the ceiling, before falling. Jezebel ducked on instinct. "They killed him. Apollo did."

"Are you sure?"

"Are you kidding me? The probable cause is all there!" He said. Laughing again.

"I'm just trying to figure things out too. We need to cover all bases -"

"Fuck covering all bases, isn't it obvious?" Floyd screamed. "Isn't it obvious that cunt Aenea brought those two here to help her win? Lord knows she doesn't have anything special going on herself. It only makes sense, doesn't it?"

"And Turnus, Richter?"

"I'm sure they're not mad about what happened. But I don't think it was them. Especially not Turnus..."

"Why would you say that?"

His eyes narrowed.

"Because he has a different target. Had..."

"What do you mean?"

"Stop asking questions, Jezzy, especially when the answer is right up your nose. You're confusing yourself. Apollo was caught with the body, he had every reason to kill him, Aenea probably told him to do it." His breathing quickened. "We have to avenge Junior. That should be our top priority. We should not live with the shame of our brothers' death. That's a kind of disgrace that will poison us, I promise you that." Once more the ground moved, every which way. Until it was topsy-turvy and swerved, and disjointed like the chaotic roots of a tree.

"I need to think on this."

"What's there to think?" It was more a demand than a question. He gave her one look, holding his breath before he let go and laughed to himself. Maniacal, sad. "Then go with Luanne. Go with mother, they're more your type of company. Don't come to me with your fucking cowardice."

He didn't need to say much more. She left the room, and left to the elevator and rung on the phone. Rung and rung, rung for mother.