Chapter Text
Virgil flailed listlessly as the car rumbled and bounced over yet another pothole. At this point it wasn’t even worth tensing up anymore, especially since his driver seemed determined to hit every single crater between them and their destination. Outside, the world rushed past in streams of red and brown and blue, and though Virgil already knew exactly where they were headed, it didn’t stop him from leaning closer toward the window or breathing just a little bit deeper as they sped past a turn off for RV campers.
He had learned long ago just how important it was to know the land, by sight and by smell, and this trip was no exception. This time, it was more important than ever that he memorize every road, every cul-de-sac, because this time it wasn’t just some rinky-dink college town he was wandering into.
It was a battlefield. It was his San Juan Hill, his personal Alamo. It could very well be his last stand.
“Virgil?” The voice that broke into his thoughts sounded irritated and tense. Virgil knew better; he could smell the concern wafting off the women, and it took more self-control than he expected to keep from asking her to crack a window. Instead, he leaned even closer to the door, doing his best to focus on the scents outside the speeding car, rather than the cloying emotions inside. “Virgil, this is important. I need you to try and make this one work out, ok?”
They passed a MacDonald’s sign for a limited time offer of spicy Cajun chicken nuggets, and Virgil breathed as deeply as he could without drawing attention. It worked: the mingled scents of greasy, preprocessed beef and the burning aroma of peppers and spices overwhelmed the distracting stench of feelings, though it was somewhat less effective at dulling the maelstrom surging through Virgil’s own veins.
He could die here. It was a sobering thing, seeing your own death swiftly approaching. It was a different kind of madness entirely, to see it coming and yet walk towards it willingly. But what choice did he have? Every fiber of his being howled in distress, urging him to run at the first available opportunity. To hit pavement the moment the social worker stopped the car and to never look back. Run. Run and hide and disappear into the shadows. And then maybe—maybe if he was smart and careful and unimaginably lucky, maybe this time he could make it. Maybe he could survive.
And yet, as powerful a motivator as living was, duty was stronger still. What choice did he have? When faced with the Hunter—the murder who killed his pack, who took everything and everyone he loved away—what choice did he have? He was the only one who could avenge his people. He was the only one left to return blood for blood and so satisfy pack law. If he dishonored their memory, what right did he have to call himself one of them? If he failed their trust, how could he ever return home? He would be truly packless, shamed before all Children of Elune, undeserving of the noble blood that coursed through his veins.
Elune knew he had sullied their memory far too much as it was by ‘blending in’ with the humans. By hiding his second skin, the gift and pride of every Wolf, and concealing his true nature beneath a thin veneer of humanity. But this slight, at least, could be excused. He had been only a pup when the Hunters attacked. He had been only a pup when his father and people were taken from him by monsters who had previously only existed in night stories and milk teeth tales, told by elders to teach invincible pups the merits of caution and wisdom. It was excusable, even forgivable, that he might choose to…ignore—not abandon, never abandon—certain aspects of his culture to survive in the human world.
But he didn’t have that luxury anymore.
His driver sighed, breaking him out of his increasingly melancholy thoughts. “Don’t you understand? You’re 17 now. There’s not that many people who are willing to foster someone that old, regardless of what the State says. And especially given your track record.”
Virgil scoffed, smothering the urge to pull his lips back in a blatant challenge. The human wouldn’t understand it anyway. Instead, he turned his attention back towards the window, cursing his overactive mind. There was a time and place to remember the past. While he was supposed to be surveying the land was not it.
The social worker flicked her blinker, the tick, tick, tick causing Virgil to grit his teeth. A right turn at laundromat. Left at the Goodwill. Three traffic lights down, then brake for the pedestrians crossing the road.
“Look, once you turn 18 you age out of the system. Then you can go wherever you want. But for now, you’re still technically a ward of the State. It’s my job to find someone to take care of you until then. And it’s your job to not drive this family out of their collective minds until they send you back. Again. Do you think you can handle that?”
A right turn down Sycamore Lane. They were getting close now.
“Virgil? Are you even—why do you have your headphones on?!”
To drown out your infernal screeching. Pity it doesn’t work, Virgil thought to himself with a low growl. He breathed a little deeper as the car sped down a row of fancy two-story houses. Car-exhaust mingled with the earthy scent of dying grass and decomposing leaves. Wafts of bodies—male, female, young, old—swirled invisible on the air, dancing with the woody smell of vegetables and the rank odors of various scorched meats. Even worse, many of the houses reeked of an electric, corrosive stench. Virgil sneezed loudly, his nose wrinkling.
Mages. Humans ‘Gifted’ with an internal magical source that allowed them to do anything from changing the color of their hair to creating fire to reading minds. Mages, in Virgil’s experience, were arrogant, pathetic humans who thought their ability to manipulate natural forces meant everyone else should bow down and worship the ground they walked on. Mages, in Virgil’s experience, were idiots.
The engine cut off and Virgil grimaced at the perfectly green manicured lawn surrounded by a pristine picket fence. The grass was rank with the acrid scent of mage-craft and Virgil sneezed several times in quick succession, groaning as he rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. This was gonna be hell.
“Well, we’re here,” his driver chirped, her voice taking on a painfully obvious timbre of false cheer. Virgil turned away from the window, staring blandly the social worker. Their gazes met for a minute, maybe a minute and a half, before she cleared her throat, purposefully molding her lips into a mild scowl. “Really, Virgil, stop staring. It’s rude.”
Virgil snorted. Rude. Right. And that jolt of nervousness he smelled when she noticed him looking at her had nothing to do with it? No, Virgil had been around humans long enough to know they hated it when he made eye contact. It unnerved them when they heard his normal, human voice and saw his normal, human body and looked in his normal, human eyes and saw a predator staring back at them. Even though most of them were too blind to see him for what he truly was, they had enough common sense to realize there was something dangerous about him. And that realization terrified them. It always did.
Taking pity on the social worker, Virgil obligingly slid his gaze away, smirking to himself when he heard her ‘inaudible’ sigh of relief. “Ok!” She clapped her hands once, the sound making him wince through his crappy headphones. “Let’s go meet your new foster family!”
“Oh, is it that time already? I don’t know how I’m possibly going to contain all of my excitement.”
“C’mon, Virgil, don’t be like that.” The woman got out of the car and motioned for him to do the same. He did, but his movements were more stilted, more cautious, as he turned to take in the full view of the neighborhood. There were nine houses on this side of the street as far as he could see, and at least that many on the right side. Each one had a fresh coat of paint and sparkling windows. Each had a perfectly trimmed lawn, and many were a rich shade of green despite the chill in the air. Some houses were two-story, some had balconies, some had trellises, and some had pools or porch swings. But all were luxurious and extravagant and far out of the normal tax-bracket for people who took fosters just to get a government check every month. He frowned as he reached for his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder.
His driver, on the other hand, was not nearly as concerned about the potential affluence of the family she would leave Virgil with. Adjusting her black Katie Spade purse, the women continued her speech without even glancing backward to see if her client had followed. “Cheer up! The Sanders’ are good people, Virgil. In fact, Mr. Sanders has already adopted three other foster kids already, so he’s very experienced at this sort of thing. Not like your last family. Of course, none of the other kids were teens when he fostered them. But I’m sure it’ll be fine! You just have to try harder this time, ok? Virgil?”
Virgil scoffed, tuning the social worker out. He already knew just how good a person Sanders was, and he had no doubt in his mind that the retired Hunter was raising his spawn up to follow in his murderous footprints. What’s more, Virgil had done his research the moment he got wind of social services having found a ‘new home’ for him. He knew that the prodigious Mr. Sanders who owned the most respectable potion shop in town was one of the bastards that attacked his pack unprovoked and unarmed. He knew that the killer had adopted three other males before him, each mages in their own right. He knew that only two of the children could actually use magic and he knew why the third one couldn’t. There was nothing she could tell him that he didn’t already know.
Of course, that had never stopped her from running her mouth before. “Quit dawdling and get over here. Virgil, haven’t you listened to anything I’ve said? It’s important to make a good first impression!”
Virgil snorted, rubbing once more at his burning nose. There was only one kind of ‘impression’ he wanted to make on this family of vipers. “What? Afraid if they catch me standing in their perfect little yard, they won’t like me anymore?” He pouted and fluttered his eyelashes, tilting his head just far enough away from the human’s face that she wouldn’t feel threatened by eye contact.
The social worker flushed, wringing her hands as her eyes cut nervously towards the doorway. It was amusing, the way she was almost as worried about being judged for his behavior as she had been at staring down a Wolf in human clothing. He snickered as he stalked to the porch.
“Use the driveway!” She hissed as he cut across the lawn. “And for goodness’ sake, take off those ratty old headphones!”
“They aren’t even plugged into anything,” Virgil sneered, holding up the end of the plug as proof.
“That doesn’t matter. It’s impolite! You promised me you’d try this time, Virgil!”
I have literally never once said that, Virgil thought caustically. But he didn’t waste his breath arguing, and he certainly made no move to take off the headphones. The driver glared at him, but when he turned to meet her eyes just a little bit more, she quickly spun back around and jabbed the doorbell, her mouth settling into a petulant frown. The two-tone chime of the bell rang out, sending Virgil’s hands flying to cover his ears, even with the headphones in play. His lips curled in pain, revealing a row of teeth that were just a little too white, a little too sharp, to be normal.
In contrast, the social worker had managed to push away her earlier discomfort and was standing calmly in the doorway, a cheerful smile painted over her face. And as the last tone faded into silence, as Virgil settled his features into something less feral and his driver carefully pushed a wayward lock of her perfectly coiffed hair back into place, a low creaking noise easily reached Virgil’s ears.
And ever so slowly, the door began to open.