"You're going to start talking. And you better talk real fast." Aenea kicked the doors open to the chapel. She carried her sister by the hair, pushing her and dragging her through the halls and into the wedding room of the church. Thaddeus was there, not waiting of course (because if he was, he was waiting for two witches wrestling each other, he probably would have been less surprised). No, he was working his craft. Chemistry or alchemy, it was hard to tell. He had a big slick piece of black crystal along a table, which used to be Floyd's arm.

Then he pushed himself away from his table as something - No, someone was slammed on it. Floyd's arm fell.

Aenea pinched Luanne from the neck, pinning her against the table. Luanne kicked and screamed, knocking down the three monitors Thaddeus had put.

"Y-y-you could have called before you brought her!" Thaddeus ran away to the corner of the room, knocking down several chairs.

"I don't want to talk about it right now, just close every damn door and window you can so the bitch doesn't get away." She said as if she forgot both of them could just cave in walls in with swift anger. Maybe it was more sentiment than anything.

Luanne gripped Aenea's hand, pushing her nails deep into the crevices of Aenea's wrist.

"You're not breaking free." Aenea brought her other hand down, pinning Luanne's arm. "You were real polite when you were crying, I wish you'd show that restraint again."

"You're choking me." Luanne struggled to say. And Aenea narrowed her eyes. But seeing Luanne's deep expression of animosity wasn't quite as convincing as either of them hoped it'd be.

"If I let my hand off your neck, will you promise not to hurt me?"

"I promise not to hurt you," Luanne said.

"That doesn't mean anything, promise me on your son." Aenea tightened. "Promise it on little Flint that you won't fucking attack me, or God so help me, I'll strangle you with your pretty little dress."

"I will not try to hurt you." Luanne cried. Aenea slammed her neck down onto the table again. "I swear on my son!"

And she let go.

"Why'd you try to kill me?" Aenea stepped forward. "You better have a good answer, because it might be your last question.

"Please don't do this here." Thaddeus cried. Aenea shot him with her famous glare, the shut-your-mouth-or-you-get-some-too face. The kind of face you make with a tightened nose and with raised eyebrows and with slanted eyes. Clint Eastwood would be proud.

"Aren't you tough? A real hardass, aren't you? A few weeks ago you were bitching and moaning about the job, about your own blood." Luanne said. "Now you don't have a problem threatening me. I bet it wasn't hard killing Floyd, was it? Never even made you question anything, did it?"

"What do you mean?" Aenea asked.

"I mean I don't owe you anything! I mean to say that you killed Floyd." She said.

"I didn't kill him, alright?" Aenea knocked down a plastic chair, it folded on itself and skid against the brown floorboard. "And I won't lie either. I knew about his death, and I wasn't sad about it either, I sleep a lot easier now that he's dead."

"Of course you do, you bitch." She grabbed a candle-staff. It looked like Poseidon's trident.

"Don't you do it," Aenea said. "Or I'll really get you this time."

"Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no." Thaddeus rolled into a ball in the corner of the room, chanting. He had on him a small brown bag that he hyperventilated into.

She threw the spear at Aenea. Aenea who grabbed it, the wooden and candlelit trident. Her arms glowed and what became of the trident? Wood. Specifically, a branch, the candle reduced to honeycomb wax and string and ash.

A deconstruction completely of every entity composing the damn staff.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

"You're not going to beat me." Aenea put her hands on Luanne's neck. "So I'd really appreciate if you stopped trying."

"You killed Floyd," Luanne screamed, her hands flailed about, looking for Aenea's eye sockets to dig her fingers in.

"You keep saying that, but I keep telling you I wasn't the one who did the damn job. Dion did." She said.

"Your pet dog." She screamed. "The witch-hunters you brought. You paid them off to kill us, it's the same thing then!"

"No, it's not," Aenea said. "First, they're demon hunters. Not witch hunters. Secondly, I don't pay them anything. I brought them here to protect me. That's it."

"A crime by proxy." So she hissed. And Aenea couldn't believe that this was Luanne. The same maternal, loving Luanne. The shy girl in the back with the little baby on her chestline, feeding away. It was hard to believe this was anyone even closely related to her.

"Why'd you do it?" Luanne cried.

"Floyd came after us. He was going to kill Dion, that's what I heard. And when he was done with him, he would have come for me." She said. "So Dion did what he thought was right. Or what he was forced to do. That's how it happened. You know that's the truth."

"No." She said.

"You know he wasn't right in the head."

"No, no." Her face scrunched.

"You know he had it in him to be a monster."

"Why-" Her eyes broke with red veins. The heavy lines of her tired eyes stretched out, she cried. It streaked down her face. "Why'd he do it?"

She turned her face, her blonde hair falling and covering crying eyes. Aenea stared for a while, she felt the hot water hit her palm. Then she let go, slow and steady.

"Why'd he do it? Why?" Luanne said, hands on her face. She crawled onto a ball on the table, grabbing her dress and raising it to her face. Most of her bottom was dirty, filled with mud and trash of the dump before. It didn't matter. She brought it against her face and let it soak brown and black.

Aenea watched, her hands behind her back, her head looking away every so often they made eye contact because watching her sister felt painful. It felt like someone gripped her heart and pulled it down, like a lever.

"He went quickly..." It was a lie. She knew it. She couldn't help but say it to her though. "It was painless..."

"We could have run away." Luanne cried. "We could have gone anywhere in the world and forgotten about all this stupid shit. Somewhere where beyond mom's reach, somewhere safe. Away from everyone." She pointed her finger at Aenea. "Away from you!"

"I understand how you feel, but I need you to know I'm not your enemy," Aenea said.

"You're definitely not my friend!" Luanne ran the back of her hand on her nose. The snot was on her backhand.

"I'm your sister. That should count for something, right?" Aenea put a hand on her shoulder. "Do you think I want any of this? Do you know how disgusted all of this makes me? Seeing you all dead or dying or killing. It's like cancer, this greed in us, it's just eating us away. Distorting. I never asked for this, as much as you didn't."

It's like the words didn't even register as sound. Luanne's blank stare just peered off into the empty wall.

"Luanne?" Aenea shook her.

"Floyd died for nothing," Luanne said to herself, Aenea just happened to be the eavesdropper. "He's gone now."

"He died for his pride." She said. "That's not a bad thing to die for. Not the best, but not bad. Better than most, honestly. Because most just go remorseful, miserable, alone. But Floyd? He went like he lived, like a warrior."

"What's the difference? Dying like a warrior? Dying from disease? Dying alone? He's dead. Dead is dead. There's nothing different about that at all. If he wanted to die, he could have done it comfortably as an old man. He could have!"

Aenea took her hand off Luanne. She rested it on her side. Her head hung low.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," Luanne said, the tears long since stopped. She sniffled, her body upright on the table. It was as if there were no more tears left to cry, like the well of her emotions had been drained or siphoned. That's what her eyes said at least, the haggard, dark circles around her eyes - they said; we’re spent, call later.

"Ritcher will kill us. If not him, Turnus. If not Turnus..." She turned to Aenea. "You."

"I'm not going to kill you. Not anymore, if I wanted to, I would have done it two times over."

"You say that, but I can't believe you."

"Then why'd you come here?" Aenea asked. "Why are you still here? Why don't you turn invisible and run away?"

Luanne went quiet. She looked at the floor, her legs dangled by the edge of the table.

"What am I going to do about my son?"

"Flint?" Aenea asked.

"His father is dead. What am I going to do?" And it was like it didn't even matter what she admitted to. She just said it as matter-of-fact, with the coldness and apathy of a natural disaster. An action without passion or anger, just a bowel movement of the planet. Even if it is (or sounded catastrophic), to Luanne, it was just fact. Cold fact. Indiscriminate.

His father?

Aenea covered her mouth.

Floyd was his dad? Jesus Christ.

"I..." And Aenea looked back and forth.

"Don't look at me," Thaddeus said, in his little corner. "This is weirding me the f-f-frick out."

"I mean..." Aenea looked down at her dejected sister. Luanne's lifeless palms were cold, touching them she could feel a pulse, faint, nothing much more. It was like she was touching a doll. Fake, inanimate, plastic and wood and pig-leather skin.

"I'll protect him." She sighed. "I'll protect your kid. But if you want me to do that, you're going to have to help me."

Luanne looked up.

"I need you to tell me everything you know about this family. About Ritcher. Your mother. Our dad."

Aenea clenched her sister's hands.

"And tell me about Turnus." She raised Luanne's chin. "If you can do that, I will guarantee your sons safety against anyone and everyone. I promise. As a Wolfe. I promise."