Connor

----------------------------------------

Fuck, where do I even start? Okay, so Fire Supreme gives Sheyla two things. Both are meant to manipulate her. Thing one is information he feels she needs to know. He’s her fire fuel donor. She probably assumes that means he’s her biological dad. I wonder if Brody sorted her out. Not many people know how Solathair seed planting works. I only know because of that Senate decision bullshit. Big semantics card he played there, hoping to pull at her heartstrings. Bad dad move. Thing two is a nasty ultimatum masquerading as a choice. Option 1: transition immediately and free Barry. Option 2: not transition immediately and not free Barry. Barry’s meant to be a hostage, controlling Sheyla.

We fuck up their leverage by freeing Barry at the direction of Brody. You might be wondering how Brody skirted orders. Easy answer. Brody’s free of the Sentry shackles. Sheyla burned those bitches right off. Being bound as we are, we could feel the break happening. Not painful or anything. Just uncomfortable as fuck. A splinter, with an added side fester being Brody’s disconnection weakened Tyler. As though we’re all tied together in an intricate weave, pulling out the thread loosened the rest of the bindings. Some of us, like Molly, thoroughly enjoy the extra roaming range. Some of the others, like Phelan, are tripping over the slack.

Keeping Phelan away while the escape happens is a non-issue. He’s in the pit the whole time, where he’s been every day for the last month, even when it’s not his turn to be in there. Calming Phelan down after he finds out is very much an issue. Obviously, he’s rampaging about Brody betraying us. I try, unsuccessfully, to explain Brody was merely doing right by Sheyla, who we’re still responsible for keeping safe.

Molly tries a different tactic. “She’ll transition,” she assures him.

“She lied,” Phelan counters.

“She did,” Molly agrees.

I disagree. She never promised Fire Daddy anything. We’ve had the same circular argument regarding her transition over and over and over. Each time, Phelan gets a little angrier. A little louder. My eardrums are bleeding from his roars. The outbursts are healthy. Better out than in, you know? It’s when he stops saying anything I get concerned. Berserk bus concerned.

When they give us the extraction mission, it surprises me. Phelan isn’t hiding his condition well (or at all). He doesn’t even put up the least bit of resistance when they give us a temporary replacement for Brody. His name’s Seán. The only way he could be any greener is if he shit shamrocks. He might. I haven’t asked him to confirm. Been a tad busy with my world imploding and all.

Our primary mission is to bring Sheyla safely back to Sheelin. She’s broken her deal by leading the charge to save Barry, along with destroying Tyler’s tethers to Brody. As Brody’s no longer part of our team, he’s enemy number one in Tyler’s eyes. Containing or eliminating Brody is our secondary mission. Molly’s already set her mind on acceptance. She reckons letting Phelan have his revenge will help him get his shit together and be the leader we need.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“What’s the plan?” Molly prompts.

“We’ll figure it out when we get there,” Phelan declares. “We don’t have time to get into the intricacies of it now.”

“Why not?”

“We’ll miss the party.”

“They wouldn’t be stupid enough to throw a party, would they?” I reason. “Surely, they’d expect crashers.”

“They won’t expect us to come,” Phelan dodges. “They’ve invited the crowd thinking it guarantees their safety for another day.”

While I disagree, again, I don’t bother arguing with him. Arguing with him in his volatile state is not safe. Bright side, we can’t exterminate Solathairs without assistance from one of Asteria’s handy dandy extraction devices, and she isn’t offering one up specifically to prevent the aforementioned exterminating, despite Phelan’s insistence. Point to Asteria. The Sumairs may be in some danger, but war always has casualties, right? Fuck. Well, at least no harm will come to Sheyla. Above all else, the looming directive shouts the loudest. Besides, hurting Sheyla isn’t what Phelan wants. That isn’t our mission. Safe extraction is the objective.

As we huddle together, preparing for the return to solid ground, with Brody’s replacement terrified about such a significant mission being his first mission, I wonder if anyone else feels like a Star Trek Original Series red shirt. I sure as fuck do.

The Keanes have created a nice castle. Sheyla’s boy toy Derry has equipped the house with an electric perimeter. Barry’s continuous presence, temporary absence notwithstanding, eliminates any magical scouting we could’ve done to survey the extent of the security. This party? It’s our in.

We stand at the singular entrance. Tree lattice fencing secures the perimeter. “Tally did this,” I note.

They’ve fashioned a dance floor of sorts, and there’s a live band. Kiley’s rocking it out, carefree as anything. “I dig live bands,” Seán chirps excitedly. “Wonder if they need a bassist.”

Molly scowls at him. “We aren’t here to take in a show.”

“They’ll see us as soon as we go in. We need to wait until everyone’s here. Maybe we can slip through then,” Phelan suggests. “Tally will probably make some big announcement. She’s all about the showboating.”

He’s on track for wise suggestions, which concerns me. If the crazy train isn’t tracking out his mouth, where’s it headed? I suddenly understand how terrifying the unknown is to the Tribunal. Not knowing what Phelan’s going to say, how he’ll see something, and what he’ll do in any given moment is ulcer-inducing.

Yeah, I’m not the only one noticing how fucked he is. “We’ll have to talk to Tyler when we get back,” Molly whispers.

“Agree,” I grumble. Molly’s right. We’ve avoided handling this for far too long. Phelan’s doing more harm than good. He needs to be replaced.

We wait for twenty-four minutes. That’s exactly how long it takes for our plans to go to shit. Why do they go to shit? Yeah, so the thing is…that’s exactly how many minutes of sanity Phelan had left.

Molly, Seán, and I stand shock still, while Phelan, in wolf-bear form, rips through the partygoers like it’s a timed decimation exercise. It’s a wasteland of bodies drowning in a red river of pain and death. You know what I said earlier about it not being safe to argue? Hindsight’s a real cunt. The hard lesson here, Folks, is if you see something, say something. Fuck, what a lesson.

I spot Sheyla in my periphery through the living room window. Phelan makes eye contact with her. Our girl is legitimately terrified. I’m terrified for her. Not fresh news, Phelan’s riding the berserk bus now. I’m not even sure if the overarching preservation order will stick. The only thing he hears is his addiction, screaming out for the would-be-Solathair standing in the house, demanding to be devoured.

He barrels toward his target, smashing through the window in pursuit of Sheyla. The glass shatters, cutting her in the explosive momentum. Blood paints the floor at her feet, yet her feet aren’t moving. Her feet need to move, or he’s going to slurp her up like a delicious oyster. Is she in shock? Fuck, aren’t we all.