Chapter 231

Charles

I nodded. At least she was starting to actually think about the problem rather than hoping anyone else would solve it for her. I'd have to talk to Eason about how best to break her out of the habit of defaulting to anyone else's opinions.

She was a brilliant woman who often came up with a good solution on her own. She needed more confidence in that, and I still wasn't sure if it was Devin or something else that had made her so unwilling to trust herself.

"Good. Which of those sound the best?"

Her shoulders slumped. "All of them."

"Which sounds easiest?" I tilted my head. "Most feasible."

"None of them," she said, biting her thumbnail.

I smiled. "Let's put a pin in that. Mull it over and give me an answer later."

"I really hate this... mentor thing."

"It's for your own good. Now, about Michael and all the others. What is it that you want to do?

Her shoulders slumped. "... undo it."

"What's the closest thing to that?"

"Reparations, I guess, but..." She huffed. "Eason is easier. I... I can find a way to send him back to Northfall and get his citizenship records."

I eyed her. "Would that... feel like enough to you?"

Her eyes watered. She shook her head silently.

"Step away from Eason for a moment," I said. "Michael, based on what you know, what would be the best thing? You said he lost everything. His career trajectory, etc. What form of reparations can you offer him, given the limited resources you possess?"

Her lips pursed. "It's the same as Eason, isn't it? How can anything I offer make up for that?"

"You're right," I conceded. "True amends may be impossible in some cases. But acknowledgment of the harm, an attempt to compensate in some way, however small, can go a long way."

She nodded slowly. "I just don't know what that will look like..."

"I think it will go a long way to rebuilding trust with the pack."

Silence fell between us as she appeared lost in thought, a flicker of determination replacing the overwhelm. She glanced at me, and her shoulders slumped a little.

"What's wrong?"

"... you didn't apologize."

I cocked an eyebrow. "How so?"

"You kept saying you should have addressed it differently. You didn't say that anything would have actually changed."

I smiled. "Because it wouldn't have. Whether I chose another way to avoid a fight, quite literally, doesn't matter nor change the circumstances. I felt that your anger at me was overshadowing the real issue, a symptom of a lot of other things. And maybe... maybe we both needed some space to examine the cause rather than fixate on the surface reaction."

Her face remained a mask, the flicker of hurt still evident in her eyes. She turned toward the door, her movements controlled and stiff.

"Goodnight, Charles," she said stiffly.

There it was, the lingering disappointment, a silent rebuke hanging in the air. I'd hoped for a deeper understanding, a moment of connection, but it felt like what little reconciliation we'd managed was surface at best.

As Grace walked to the door, I longed to call her back to talk about it further, but this discomfort was necessary. Giving her what she thought she wanted versus what she needed wasn't going to help anyone in the long run.

"Goodnight, Grace," I said, offering a small smile that she didn't return.

As the door closed behind her, I felt the echoes of our conversation ripple through me. Frustration at her unmet expectations mingled with a sense of cautious optimism. We were a long way from an easy connection, the surface connection we'd been enjoying, but we were moving toward something deeper, I hoped.

I sat back and rubbed my forehead. If I just wanted a surface connection, there were any number of ways to go about it. I sighed. The night had been a stalemate at best. I glanced back to where she'd been sitting. Her reaction to therapy gave me pause.

Why not? Was it a cultural resistance to the idea? It was the best solution for dealing with her pain around Devin's betrayal, at least, but I couldn't linger on that thought much longer.

A knock sounded on the door. It swung open, and George stepped in, looking troubled and carrying a fresh bottle of Howling Moon. I was certain that I'd had a bottle open already. Maybe he and Eason had been drinking. He closed the door, sat on the couch, poured us both a glass, and reclined. He took a deep drink.

“Rough day?" I asked wryly as he drained the glass. I picked up mine and took a sip.

“You could say that."

"You first?"

He snorted. "I brought the liquor. You first."

I sighed and told him about my conversation with Grace. He looked into his glass, swirling the liquid around, frowning. When I finished, he let out a long sigh, wiping a hand down his face.

“Seems we’re both in the thick of it, eh, Charles?” he said, his voice heavy with his own burdens. “That woman needs every kind of therapy... and a hell of a settling potion."

"She walked home."

He nodded. "Deadened senses. Did she take something?"

"I'll ask Esme." I took another drink. "What's eating you?"

His lips twitched. "Eason."

"No sex yet?"

"Not that," George said. "I'm... actually considering courting him."

I smirked. "About time. Isolde's going to be thrilled."

He smirked. "Would be a great thing... if Ethan wasn't supposed to be arriving on the doorstep in a matter of hours."

My eyes widened. "He's all healed?"

He nodded. "I haven’t heard a peep from Eason since the trial, and Esme… well, she looks like a cat on a hot tin roof.”

Intrigued, I leaned forward. “What’s got Esme so on edge? Is it Ethan coming?”

George shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Not exactly. She’s convinced Eason’s gone off into some sort of trance, hibernating like a bear or something.”

I raised an eyebrow, amusement battling with concern. “A trance, you say? Is there any truth to that?”

George shrugged. “Honestly, who knows with Eason these days. He left a note before heading out to meet some people from Norhfall for something. I haven't seen him take a stability potion yet, but I think that's because of the..." He winced. "The dying thing."

I nodded. "I've been meaning to ask Esme about that..."

"She's worried sick, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s just… processing things.”

"Have you spoken to him? He called me, so--"

"Not that kind of trance." He said. "Esme said that catatonic trances aren't nearly as common as..." He frowned. "Fuck, I don't remember the words for it. Magicae...."

"Magicae mentis?" I asked, staring at him.

He nodded. "Sounds right."

Magic Mind. I hadn't ever had a trance like that, but hearing that Eason was in danger of it, or maybe in it already, wasn't surprising. They said even if you died and came back, you lose a piece of you on the other side. Eason had lost his werewolf side... but was that just blocking his connection to his witch lineage, maybe even limiting it?

"How long?"

He shook his head. "No idea."

We sat in companionable silence for a while, each lost in our own thoughts. The weight of the world, it seemed, wasn’t solely on my shoulders.

“Maybe this whole mess just needs some time to settle,” I finally said, swirling the remaining liquor in my glass. “Maybe then, we can all start picking up the pieces.”

George clinked his glass against mine, a glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes. “To hoping, Charles. To hoping for calmer waters and clearer skies.”

We downed the rest of our drinks, but not even a moment afterward, Esme came into the office looking harried. She grabbed the bottle, opened it, and took a long swig.

"Fuck," George said, sitting up.

She gasped and wiped her mouth, having drank at least an inch out of the bottle. She panted.

"These children... will be the death of me," she said.

"Your grandchildren or your great-grandchildren?"

"My grandson, specifically," Esme said and sunk onto the couch beside George. She raised a shaking hand.

"He's back," Esme said. "From his get-together. I don't know what the hell they served, but he's hyped up on magical liquor. Like he needed any more juice."

"Is that dangerous?"

"Of course not," Esme said. "Just... trouble. It'll probably make him slip deeper into magicae mentis, and if... If he goes too deep, I'm not sure what he'll do."

George frowned. "Is he a danger?"

"She's saying she doesn't know," I said. "A danger to himself or to... anyone else."

Esme set her jaw. "He hasn't told me what all of his oaths have been. No one will, but people taken over by their magic tend to target the biggest sources of stress first. Lethally."

I swallowed. George and I looked at each other.

"So... keep them separated until he comes out of it.

Esme took another drink. "If only it was ever that easy."