Velli

The hallways the beasts drag us through are testaments to Wulf’s greatness. He might be our soon-to-be executioner. I don’t bother raising my head. I know the hallways of Wulf’s home by heart. As a kid, I took virtual tours of it like I would be tested on it. Back then, I believed I could have everything he had.

My head rubs against Wulf’s wine-red carpet as the wolves drag us. The slight fragrance of cologne fills the hallways. Probably his signature scent this season. It’s metallic and reminds me of luxury suits, plush carpets, and women in red lipstick.

A strange mix of fear and excitement that I’m not comfortable with mingles within me.

Paintings from Division’s Hand’s best artists hang everywhere on the white walls. They are a testament to Wulf’s journey. In the first portrait, he stands over a man. His fist is raised, his long blue hair flowing, and a hammer in his hand. The two are inside a steel cage.

Wulf made his money fighting professionally, ending his career 60–0–6 using only his bare hands—a never-before-seen and never-replicated feat.

A never-before-seen and never-replicated feat, Fate mocks with the voice of a teenage girl.

Then Wulf spent about six months in prayer and said God told him to start his life over. He gave away a hundred million drops to his friends and a couple of charities and set out on his own.

We turn left so we’re in the next hallway. A statue hangs where Wulf looks like a potter on his hands and knees, molding clay into a vase. Except instead of clay, Wulf molds scrap metal.

He found an empty plot of land and took scraps of metal from local garbage dumps and started to build. No one knew what he was building, and he said he didn’t know either for a while, only that God told him to build it. It drew the world’s attention. After half a year, another two months, and six days of tireless work, he was finished. Huh, six months, another sixty days and six more after that. We probably should have seen he wasn’t talking to the man upstairs, even if he thought he was.

Hard to tell when you’re on your knees for the man.

The wolves nudge the door open and drop us inside a room.

We walk into an impressively tiny apartment, only about seven steps long. With a simple stretch, I could touch the ceiling painted to resemble a summer sky, complete with fluffy white clouds and a yellow sun. The walls are gorgeous, painted a soft sky blue and littered with beautiful portraits. The paintings are done without frames or blank paper. Instead, they occupy simple notebook paper. Exquisite pieces of families, animals, and the sun.

The sun. Each one has that big yellow glow in the backdrop. Perhaps to make up for the lack of sunlight in the room. A large brick building stands so close to the window that no moonlight can get through.

Dream stumbles into a table painted bright green. Flowers of every shape and type are drawn to snake up the table’s legs.

Lue sits on a bed across the tiny room. She looks exasperated at our entry. She rolls her eyes, unimpressed as soon as she sees Dream. I don’t know who she thinks she is, but she does not look well. Lue’s skin is a beautiful bronze despite her bruises. She has one black eye, and both eyes are baggy, maybe from sleepless nights. Her lips are full but split, damaged. Despite her and Dream being nearly the same age, she sits beside an oxygen tank.

“You’re such an idiot. I told you not to come.” She puts her oxygen mask over her face to take a few hits.

It reminds me of how girls take drags of cigarettes when they’re annoyed with the guy talking to them. She removes the oxygen mask and drops her jaw, dramatically annoyed at our very presence.

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“You couldn’t get past the wolves?” she asks. “You didn’t really believe all that about no security, did you? Who’s idea was this?”

Lue must have petrified Dream in high school, because Dream does the most out-of-character thing and scoots away from Lue’s gaze, pointing at me, blaming me for this idea. Which is true, but still.

Lue throws her head back in rage, like my existence is the biggest problem in her life where she’s beaten and essentially stuck in a cage. “How? How can you be both ugly and dumb? What’s your appeal?” She shrugs then waves her hand. “Well, speak, man. What is it?” She takes big hits from her oxygen mask.

I ignore her and speak to the wolf beside me. “Any chance you can just let us go? You can have her.”

The wolf stares back with blank eyes.

Dream yanks me forward by my arms.

“Hey, Lue,” Dream says. “Please, don’t speak to him like that. We’re here to rescue you.”

Lue ignores her and keeps speaking to me. “Aye, short, dark, and grotesque. Is your stupid spreading to her? Because I said pretty clearly not to come here?”

“He is not grotesque, Lue! And stop being mean to him!” Dream yells, loud and piercing.

Lue eyes her.

“Stop it, Lue,” Dream whispers, her confidence zapped away.

What did Lue do to her?

“Out of respect to your sister, Dream, you and your friend can leave if you like,” someone says with an iconic deep voice.

Dream and I leap into action. We spin to see Wulf standing there.

“Your blood in my room would be bad for business.”

I knew he was coming. He had to come, and yet Wulf’s presence in the room alarms us. It’s unnerving how he appears to take over the whole space and quenches my desire to speak. He has no fear about this home invasion—he wears no armor and brings no weapons. He still dons his silk pajamas and refuses to close his shirt. His golden wolf medallion swings between his two drum-sized pecs. Every move he makes has me on edge. Every move he makes feels like he could crush me. My very presence in his room seems like an affront to logic.

“We’re leaving with Lue.” I attempt to believe it.

He squats to the levels of the wolves. His six-foot-five frame takes up so much space in the room. Wulf’s gentle pats calm the beasts. He scratches the wild albino one under its chin. It smiles at this and maybe even laughs, which comes out as a giddy yelp. Two others behind him want the same treatment and start nuzzling with the man. They rub their wet snouts against his cheek and beard. His beard is dark black and as lush and thick as the wolves’ fur. Wulf smiles and accepts their advances with gentle pets.

“Lue, what did you tell them?” he asks, mid–wolf hug.

Lue’s mouth shuts.

“Enough to be dangerous, but nothing that has to be heard,” Dream pipes up.

“Is everything in the letter true?” I ask.

“Yes.” He kisses the gray wolf, who was in the back, looking lonely.

“Then we know enough to ruin your life, and we will be doing that,” I say.

“Velli,” Dream snaps. “Easy…”

“Velli…” All joy leaves Wulf as he says my name. It’s not replaced by anger or anything I value, only pity. “Your dad…”

“Yeah, I’ve heard he was a good man. Better than you, and if this world had any justice, you’d be six feet under and not him. I would say I’m sending you to talk to him, but I’ll personally make sure you go a different direction.”

Dream’s surprised by my audacity. Lue loses her resentment. Only fear fills her eyes as she refuses to look at Wulf.

I smile at Dream. This isn’t just about Lue. Dream, this is also about proving to her you’re worth something to someone who thought otherwise.

Living vicariously, huh?

I scan Wulf one more time to find our target. The watch on his wrist.

I’m supposed to call the play. I’m supposed to attack. And yet I find that hard to do at the moment. I know it isn’t, but it feels like his frame fills the whole room. It feels like I won’t be able to harm him. I’ll be punching air until I’m bloody, exhausted, and I collapse. It feels like he can separate my head from my neck with one stomp. It also feels like I really don’t have a choice.

“Dream!” I yell. “Plan B! Left side.”

“Sit,” Wulf tells his pets.

Dream pulls out two pistols and aims them at his left eye. The guns’ explosions fill the room. Dream’s aim is good, and she fires without rest, unloading, reloading, and making more explosions from her small black pistols within seconds. The wolves bark in reply. Wulf dodges. Flowerpots, kitchenware, and parts of the wall explode behind him. Impossible. He dodges bullets like a boxer dodges fists. He really is that good.

With each bullet wasted, I lose a little hope. With the ease he does everything, with the way he looks me in the eye as he dodges, he produces an aura in this room, one that tells me we will lose.

That’s fine. We planned for this.

“Two left. Your turn,” Dream tells me, letting me know she emptied fourteen of her sixteen magazines.

I nod to her. She fires her last shots. We know they won’t hit Wulf. We don’t expect them to. With bullets flying in the air, I fling two bags of flour from my belt toward his left eye. He’s good, but I’m clever. A thick white puff of flour explodes on his eyes and obscures a good portion of his vision. Hopefully, it’s enough. Knives ready, I dash forward with a focus on tearing out his other eye.