The Revelation
That’s Bad

“Here. Have a glass of wine. It will help.” Anika said.

Though Florian sent her to the Bahamas, Anika made a split decision to turn back. Something about his insistence made her think this wasn’t a weekend getaway with her girlfriends. She had been with him long enough to know when there was something else on his mind. When Anika walked in and saw the frames broken on the floor and blood on the tile, she knew she made the right choice.

For a moment, she was terrified that Florian was nowhere to be found, but the off-key singing combined with a shower running told her he was fine. The only remnants of his fight were a few purple bruises on his knuckles and arm. Both places would be healed within an hour. Then the real cleanup began.

“I don’t want the wine.” He said.

Florian waved Anika’s glass away, ignoring the tempting aroma of a woody red wine. It was his favorite, and she knew that. The wine would not heal the wounded ego Florian was nursing.

She put a hand on his leg, leaning in close. “What can I do for you, love?”

“Nothing.” Florian sighed, scooting himself away from her. “I’m sorry, Anika. I’m angry with myself! Oliver was right. I was stupid to think I could wait and fight him.”

“You were blinded by revenge.” She said.

“I don’t understand why he came. Unless his grand plan has something to do with us.” Florian said.

“Perhaps it does. If Oliver is truly bringing down the Iron Oath, you are the first person he would go to for help. You fought them twice and won both times.”

He rested his head in his hands, relishing in the deep sigh that expelled the air from his lungs. At a time like this, being able to express your exasperation was more healing than any wine or touch from Anika. Florian took her hand in his, enjoying the softness of her skin and the cool touch of her flesh.

“My dear. I do not consider New Mexico a win. You nearly died for it. People did die. Good people. Innocent people.” Florian said.

“We survived it. So did Oliver.” Anika said. “And you both survived in the colonies. Long before I ever met you in the New Mexico territory. He must have said something more to you. Something to give you a hint.”

“No.” Florian shook his head. “He only said I’d know soon. Then he left after so rudely dropping my phone on me.”

“Where could he have gone?” Anika asked.

“His next assignment, I’m sure. He’s…” Florian’s head jerked up. “Sandy Carson called us. The Iron Oath has their sights on Isaac Carillo. I believe I know where Oliver might be going.”

“Florian, sit down!” Anika jerked on his sleeve. “You haven’t fed enough to run. Take a car, for God’s sake.”

“I’ll be back.” Florian said.

A guitar riff gave way to warbling vocals that were a touch too high for Isaac to reach. He hummed along with the song, bobbing his head up and down while the cash register finished printing out the day’s totals. Every night was a happy one for Isaac. He’d look around the quiet shop and smile, thinking back to how it started.

Years ago, it was a hole in the wall. A few shelves in someone’s repair shop with second hand parts and bikes he’d fixed himself. The first location was nothing much, a small piece of space in a shopping plaza. Then, it grew and became the monster of a dealership he smiled at every day.

Merchandise advertising his brand lined shelves and racks. The parts department was never slow, and their service station always had customers. New bikes stood next to older ones with a fresh paint job and new engines. Isaac couldn’t give up the thrill of fixing dead bikes and giving them a new life.

A short gust of wind took his breath away. He jerked his head up, staring at the locked door. Then he sniffed the air. He knew that smell. Burning flowers. It was like a graveyard, dead and decaying with a touch of sweetness.

“You stink.” Isaac said.

“I just used Wren’s washroom.” The voice was unfamiliar to Isaac, but he knew who to expect. Sandy made sure of that.

Both men faced each other, Isaac standing nearly a head shorter than the man looking at him. What he lacked in height, he made up for in brawn. The man’s shoulders and heavy arms were like two clubs, ready to pummel the intruder.

“Wren? Did you do anything to her?”

Oliver shook his head. “No. I didn’t touch her. I asked to use the washroom. She allowed it. We do work together.”

“I know who you are.” Isaac said. “Your reputation followed you. Let’s get this over with.”

Oliver laughed when Isaac reached under the counter, picking up a wooden stake. He squared himself up in front of Oliver, sizing up the taller man. If there was any hope of winning a fight against a Vampire, it would be with pure strategy. Had it been a full moon, Isaac would have won without question. A shifted Werewolf was one of the most formidable things on the planet. Even a Vampire stands little chance against them.

“No. No dying. No fights either. I’m only here to warn you.” Oliver leaned on the counter as if he were a customer chatting with an employee.

He glanced at a shirt laying next to the register. It had the name of Isaac’s dealership emblazoned across it, but the wolf howling at the moon was a different color than the others, and the location only said Hialeah, instead of the state. Oliver picked up the shirt, draping it over his arm.

“Do you mind if I take this?”

Isaac blinked. “It’s a misprint. Why do you want it?”

“I don’t have any shirts from Florida yet. This would be fun to have.” He smiled. “Now that we’re friends…”

“We are not.”

“Mister Carillo, your help is going to be needed very soon. Not from me, but from Wren.” Oliver said.

Isaac leaned forward, touching his forehead to Oliver’s. The veins were about to explode from his skin, and his pulse raced so fast that it sounded like a stampede thundering in Oliver’s ears. His eyes narrowed into small slits, and he spoke through gritted teeth.

“Don’t you dare threaten her.”

“I am not threatening her, I am…”

Oliver was cut off by the sound of a car engine rumbling to a stop. Headlights blinded both men, and a door slammed shut. An eerie, illuminated face appeared in the door, looking like a ghostly figure slamming their hands against the glass. Isaac rolled his eyes.

“I’m closed, you know! Both of you don’t need to be here!” But he still opened the door for Florian. “No, please. Come in. Good to finally meet you, Mister Di Votti. Let’s just have a Vampire party. It isn’t like you have clubs to go to.”

Florian looked around the shop, noticing that everything was in place. “You’re alive.”

“Yes, I’m alive. He won’t be for long. He was threatening Wren.” Isaac pointed to Oliver.

“I was not threatening anyone. I was giving you a message. Florian, you look well. I see you called a donor.” Oliver smiled.

“Don’t!” Florian put a finger in Oliver’s face.

“You’re well enough to fight, I’d wager.” Oliver said. “But your timing is horrible. There’s work to do. Isaac’s friend has something important. For all of you. I was going to give it to you, but she was kind enough to let me use her washroom.”

“Stop giving cryptic messages and tell us what you’ve done!” Florian said.

“My undoing, Florian. Mine and the Iron Oath’s.” Oliver opened the front door, clutching the shirt in his hand. “Do you believe me now? Or do I need to mourn my new shirt?”

“I didn’t give you that shirt!” Isaac threw his hands in the air.

“Not yet, Florian.” Oliver smiled. “Not yet.”

Oliver left with the tee shirt slung over his shoulder, whistling an old tune as he strolled through the parking lot. Both men were still in the shop with their mouths hanging open. Finally, they made eye contact.

“What the hell just happened?” Isaac asked.

“I think he’s serious.” Florian said. “I think he truly did give Wren something that would damn him and the Iron Oath.”

“That’s bad.” Said Isaac. “Very bad.”

Hundreds of papers scattered in front of Wren. Her head softly thumped against the wall and she closed her eyes. For the last two hours, these pages had torn her to shreds, made her stomach lurch, and caused her to shed tears more than once. Brutus lay down with his head in her lap, perking his ears every time Wren made a noise.

As a child, they told stories in school. Stories about the Iron Oath and how they hurt people. Someone’s Uncle disappeared once after the Iron Oath arrested him. He turned up dead. Another swore their cousin was the same. An older kid said they experimented on The Others.

Wren remembered going home and sitting at the table with a glass of juice, waiting patiently for her parents to return. She asked them about the stories, worried sick they may be true. Both of her parents reassured her they were rumors. All things made up by Other children to scare themselves during camp outs and sleep overs. Did her parents know the truth?

Some pages were so old that touching them could turn the paper to dust. Old handwriting with a flair for scrolls detailed names of Others and their reactions to certain things. Terms Wren had never heard of continued through the pages, each one growing more detailed as the papers went from brown to white.

Results were printed in black and white under Iron Oath letterheads. Internal communications encrypted and classified. Someone had printed them out, with names Wren had been cross-referencing. The newer papers had photos to match with missing Others or Others who turned up dead.

The pictures made Wren want to retch. Others laying on makeshift hospital beds, staring at the ceilings with glassed over eyes. Fear registered on their faces. A fear that couldn’t be communicated because of their drug-addled states.

She recognized a name on an older paper. Florian Di Votti. Detailed information on a planned capture was listed, but nothing else. There were other names on the page, along with written notes. These names Wren recognized, Vera Clarke, Raphael Alvarez, Happy and Eliza Pierce. She looked at the paper again with a frown.

Vera Clarke was a Werewolf who wrote her memoirs of her time in the New Mexico Territory. She accused the Iron Oath of atrocities against The Others that elicited a public outcry. The Iron Oath spoke out against the woman, denouncing every thing as lies and a work of fiction. Soon after, World War II broke out and the public paid little attention to the woman’s book. Though many of The Others swore it was not fiction.

Another name showed up. Isaac Carillo. This was tied to Jacob. It was nearly impossible to connect every dot, but Wren moved through the pages to replace Jacob’s name. Repeatedly, one-sided letters detailed Jacob’s targets. The stronger they were, the more he wanted them.

Wanted them for what?

Isaac had run the pack for years. No one could beat him. He was one of the strongest Werewolves in Florida, if not the southern United States. Erin Neason had once led a pack, and she was lauded for her strength after leaving her ex-husband and taking her daughter Chloe away from him. Her new husband Brian later adopted the kid and Erin’s ex-husband turned up dead years later.

Wren had already referenced the murder. Nothing tied Erin to the man’s death, but Jacob saw that as an in. It was a reason to accuse her of wrongdoing. He wanted their strength, but Wren couldn’t understand why.

She shuddered to think what was in the thumb drive, but inserted the stick into her laptop just the same. Thousands of emails and short videos showed up in the folder. One titled “Nero and Cesar.” Wren closed her eyes and clicked, pulling up a video of two familiar dogs. They wagged their tails when Jacob came in, talking openly.

“I can hear them.” Wren said. “Brutus. Can you hear them?”

“Of course I can. They’re dogs.” He barked. “Oh, no…”

“What?”

“They’re getting the worst thing you can do to a dog.” Brutus hid his snout under a paw with a whine.

“Neutered?”

He closed his eyes. “Shots!”

“Shots? Like rabies shots?”

“Yeah.”

Wren watched the video. Jacob petted the dogs while someone in a lab coat gave them both a quick jab. The dogs both expressed their displeasure at getting their yearly vaccines, but knew it was for their own good. As they looked into the eyes of their owner, they went silent.

“Brutus…”

The dog put his nose against the screen. “I can’t hear them anymore.”

“What did he do to those dogs?” She asked.

“I don’t know.”

Jacob’s smarmy smile stared at the camera. “The first dose is complete. Should this work, the method will finally be a success.”

The thumb drive was jerked away from the laptop and tossed on top of the pile. Wren’s vision went blurry, making the hanging plants blend in with the wall. Brutus’ paw rested on her leg and the dog gave her an empathic whine.

“I have to get out of here. If any of this… if Oliver… where do I go? What do I do?” Wren paced across the floor, talking to no one and everyone at once.

“Sandy.” Brutus said. “Sandy listened to me. She called people like you asked. Go see Sandy.”

“Sandy.” Wren looked out the window as if someone were going to come in after her. “Come on, Brutus.”

There were no lights on in the house, but heavy base was thumping against the walls from the back deck. Wren could have rung the doorbell or knocked, but Sandy may not hear her. Fortunately, the large cat was in the window the moment they pulled up. One look at Brutus sent it running. The music quieted and moments later, Sandy appeared at the door with a half-eaten hand pie.

“Wren?”

“I need your help.” Wren said. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Is it bad?” She asked.

“Yes.”

Sandy pulled Wren inside, turning every blind until the living room was dark as a dungeon. For a moment, Wren feared it was a dungeon. Sandy was in on the whole thing, and this was it. She’d end up staring at a halogen light on a white and gray flecked ceiling, like so many Others in these papers.

A floor lamp illuminated the space, giving Wren the ability to breathe again. Two heavy couches with overstuffed cushions formed an L-shape in the center of the room, and a big coffee table sat between them with a big crystal bowl full of candy. Considering Sandy was a social worker, Wren wondered how many scared kids were offered candy and sweets to help comfort them. At a time like this, Wren could use some chocolate. Bags of it.

“Sit down.” Sandy said. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She told her, spilling the story of Oliver’s visit and the package. It opened up in front of Sandy while Wren went through the documents. The woman picked them up with shaking hands, reading over the horrible things the Iron Oath had done to The Others. She and Wren both could not hold back their emotion as the details continued on.

Every story was true. Every rumor that the Iron Oath was run by zealots who believed humans could tap in to The Others had become real. For ages, the Iron Oath had tried. Tried to harm them, use their abilities and take it for themselves. They believed the origin stories that were nothing more than legends, but to The Iron Oath, it was an invitation to steal an ancient magic that existed since the beginning of time.

“They’re insane.” Sandy whispered. “Bat shit crazy.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Wren said, hugging her arms around her waist.

“We need to tell Florian and Isaac.” Sandy said. “This was hard for you, girl. I’m glad you did it.”

“I’m not. I think I’ve gotten us all in trouble. If Jacob replaces out…” Wren couldn’t finish the sentence. “There’s a video on here. His dogs were given a shot. They were talking, then there was nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Sandy, I know those dogs. They can’t speak to me. I’ve tried and tried to connect, but there’s something barring me from it. It’s like they are begging to talk, but they can’t.” Wren said.

Both women sat in silence, listening to Brutus and the cat move around. Both animals were kind enough to leave each other be, focusing instead on comforting their friends. Sandy’s coffee table was no longer an inviting space with a bowl of candy. It had been filled with disgusting pages detailing the Iron Oath’s hatred and misguided zealotry against The Others. Neither could bear to look at it any longer.

“Why did you join them, Wren?” Sandy asked.

Wren closed her eyes. “My parents. They were part of the Iron Oath. They wanted me to join, even pushed me into it. I wanted to be a dancer, or teach dance. My dream was to buy a ballet school. But they told me they wouldn’t pay for college if I did that. If I got a degree in law or criminal justice, they’d pay every cent. I couldn’t afford it without them. I should have done what I wanted.

“They told me everything right about the Iron Oath.” Wren sighed. “I believed that I could make a difference. I walked in my first day knowing I’d help The Others and the Iron Oath work together. I stopped believing that within a year.”

“Why stay?” Sandy asked.

Wren didn’t notice tears spilled over as she recounted everything to Sandy. The woman grasped hold of her hand while Wren told her how her parents tried to force her into being a normal child. Ballet classes. Groups at Temple. Even sent her to the private school their Synagogue owned, hoping she’d somehow blend in with the other kids.

They drilled ideas of the Iron Oath in her head and told her what a wonderful place it would be. If Wren ever attempted to be a Druid, they discouraged it and ignored her.

Then one day, they were gone. Without a word or a phone number to contact them. She was on her own, and by that time, all she had was her work. The Others had already shunned her, and it was only Isaac who accepted her as a friend. Even then, Wren’s job made their friendship rocky from time to time.

“Wren.” Sandy smiled at her. “You drink beer? I could use one.”

“So could I.” Wren chuckled.

“I’ll let Spock keep you company for a minute.”

“Her name is Spock?” Wren asked.

“Yes!” Sandy called from the kitchen.

The cat sat pensively on a cushion, swishing her tail back and forth as she watched the woman and dog. Wren wanted to apologize for thinking the cat was a boy, but she wasn’t exactly sure the cat cared. Sandy called back an answer to Spock’s meow and reappeared with two bottles in her hand. Both of them took a long drink of a smooth, cold beer before they sat the bottles down in unison.

“When was the last time you used your abilities?” Sandy asked.

“I just spoke to Brutus when we came in.”

Sandy shook her head. “No, Wren. Really used them.”

“I don’t know. I’m not allowed to use them at work. It’s against regulations. They have regulations for two of us. And one doesn’t listen.” Wren said.

Sandy narrowed her eyes at the mention of Oliver. “I think it’s time you used them again. I know how you can.”

“How?”

Again, Sandy disappeared, leaving Wren and Brutus to sit under the ire of Queen Spock. She came back with a dirty planting pot in both hands, and a sickly looking flower. The blooms wilted away weeks ago, and a brown stem was taking over the pale green.

“I think I killed it. The flowers were so pretty, too.”

Wren snickered. “You over watered it.”

“That’s what I do. I water everything.” Sandy grinned, holding up a vial of water around her neck.

“It’s not dead.” She said.

The pot covered a few of the documents, masking over the horrible things written on those pages. Wren paid no attention to them, because her focus was on the dying leaves that were like crepe paper under her fingers. All it needed was a little encouragement and a little care. This plant was struggling, but it still wanted to live.

Under Wren’s touch, the leaves uncurled and stretched out as if they were looking for the sun. The stem swelled with life, growing a vibrant green as it stood tall and proud. A wilted blossom fell away, growing into a bud before the vivid purple petals spread out.

Sandy smiled. “There you go. She’s alive again.”

“Are you talking about me or the plant?” Wren asked.

Sandy only responded with a smile.