Chapter 51

Grace

After we finished High Tea with Cecil, Charles took her to the bathroom to clean the icing from her hands. I heard her squeal.

“Are these for me? Thank you, Uncle Charles!”

Eason let out a low whistle as we made it to my office. “He’s really stepping into the Daddy shoes, isn’t he?”

I flushed, and he grinned. “For just Cecil or…”

“Shut up, Eason,” I nudged him, and he laughed. He sank into a chair across from me and pulled out his laptop.

The scent of coffee filled the air as Charles entered, carrying a tray in one hand and a laptop tucked under his arm. The aroma wafted through the air as we gathered and settled into the plush armchairs, creating a mini boardroom of sorts amid the bookshelves and framed photographs.

“What’s Cecil up to?” Eason asked.

Charles grinned. “A new, very extensive coloring book and shimmering crayons. I think she’ll be busy for a while.”

I smiled at the thought and sipped my coffee. Cecil could lose herself for hours in a coloring book.

The atmosphere in the office was tense but focused as we settled in to talk about the WSU and what they wanted. Charles sat back and put his laptop on the table.

“Here’s everything I have on the WSU,” his lips twitched. “To sum up, they’re an isolationist organization hell bent on keeping lycan and werewolves separate. The werewolf side is the WSU, the lycan side is the LSU.”

I winced, reading some of the information. “Co-Existence and Co-Operation, not Annexation?”

“They should have hired me,” Eason said, rolling his eyes. “I could have come up with a better slogan.”

He laughed. “I have no doubt.”

“What do you know about their motives?” I asked. “Everyone has their own stake in keeping us separate whether it makes sense or not.”

Charles, his expression grave, leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers thoughtfully. "It's hard to say for certain, but from what I've gathered, they're driven by a deep-rooted fear of integration. They believe that mingling with lycans will dilute their own werewolf culture and endanger their way of life, and vis-versa."

Eason chimed in, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he pulled up additional information. "It's not just ideological. They've been known to actively oppose any initiatives that promote unity between werewolves and lycans. They've even gone so far as to sabotage events and campaigns aimed at integration."

“I didn’t know those existed,” I said. My brow furrowed. "This kind of separatist sentiment doesn't bode well for anyone. We need each other.”

“Co-operation, Not Annexation,” Charles said.

“But what’s the point. Everyone knows that every year that goes by, we grow closer and closer together,” I shook my head. “We need each other now more than ever.”

“If we don’t stand together, we’ll fall,” Charles said. “It’s something my father believed…”

It also got him killed, was what he didn’t say.

Charles leaned forward, his voice laced with concern. "People like this tend to have one of two agendas. They want to exert control over their own kind, keeping them isolated and ignorant. It's easier to manipulate and govern when you're the sole source of information."

I shuddered. “And the other?”

“Pure, blatant fear of being the lesser of the two parties.”

I glanced at the screen, scrolling through pages of WSU literature that propagated their isolationist stance. "But what about the LSU, the lycan side of this organization? Are they as rigid in their beliefs?"

Charles sighed, the lines on his face deepening. "The LSU seems to have a similar agenda but from the lycan perspective. They also want to maintain a clear separation, but they have one difference: they believe in lycan supremacy. It’s really just a moniker for the agenda of the Elders.”

He shook his head. “The Elders want all the advancements of the werewolf society but don’t view them as anything more than their due since lycans are the reason the States have remained separate from the humans and witches. To be honest, both sides feed off each other's fears and prejudices. It gets more dangerous by the day."

I shook my head in disbelief. "This division is only going to hinder any progress being made towards peace. Are there any groups that stand against that?”

“Against an organization backed by your president?” He smiled. “Not many.”

I narrowed my eyes, sensing something in his words, but I couldn’t parse it out exactly.

Eason sighed.

“What?” Charles asked. “You have an idea.”

He pursed his lips. “It’s dumb. There are enough marginalized werewolf packs who would like to cooperate more with lycans. More marginalized people that would want the liberal ease of lycan law, the justice behind it, and so on.”

“Most of those people have already moved,” Charles said, smiling. “We have several thriving werewolf-majority communities spread out through the Clan territories.”

Eason’s eyes glimmered, and my heart clenched. I wondered for a moment if wanting to keep him here was selfish. Would he be happier there where he could be who he was without problem or fear? I pushed that thought away.

“What about the people here still challenging the WSU's narrative."

“They would be good allies,” Charles said. “But I don’t know enough about them.”

“Give me a second.”

I smiled, listening to Eason’s fingers flying across the keyboard as I kept sifting through the information on Charles’ laptop. I couldn't help but feel the weight of their anger and hatred in every word. It was suffocating and made me think of all those letters.

Had Mooncrest always been so isolationist, too?

“You don’t say…” Eason whispered to himself.

“What?”

Eason turned his laptop toward us, revealing a photograph of our parents. They stood together, a united front, addressing a crowd with determination etched into their faces.

“Mom and Dad?” I whispered, more to myself than to Eason and Charles.

Charles nodded, his expression thoughtful. I could tell he recognized my mother, but he remained silent about any further connection. It was a puzzle I hoped to explore later.

Before we could delve deeper into the article, the atmosphere shifted as the front door creaked open.

“Grace?” Jackson called, rushing down the hall.

He threw open the office door. His expression was a mix of concern and urgency.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“My parents…” He winced. “Well, they’ve told me about what’s been going on with the pack, but I wanted to hear it from you. And…”

“And what?” I pressed.

“There’s a riot happening in the city,” his lips curled back into a sneer. “They say it’s a lycan problem. They beat up a bunch of werewolves and are being incarcerated, but everyone knows that nothing is going to happen to them.”

Because lycans had a certain amount of diplomatic immunity under werewolf law. My heart sank at the news.

Let the Lycan King deal with the lycan problem. Our president said. It was a major part of his platform to just return lycan criminals to the King. I glanced at Charles, whose expression was neutral.

"We have to go," I said, my voice trembling with worry. The safety of our pack members was at stake, and I couldn't stand idly by.

Charles pulled out his phone. “George will take you.”

I bit my lip and nodded before getting up. It was a reassuring gesture, a reminder that even in the midst of uncertainty, I wasn’t alone, even if Charles couldn’t come with me.

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Eason said, getting comfortable like he was going to settle in to do a lot of work.

As I prepared to leave with George, the weight of the situation hung heavy in the air. The old divisions between lycans and werewolves had flared into violence again. It felt like it would always be this way. I slipped into the back seat with a deep sigh.

“You needn’t worry,” George said as he drove away. “You have all the support you need.”

I really hoped he was right.

When we arrived, the precinct was buzzing with uneasy tension when I arrived, my steps determined yet cautious. George was at my side, resolute in his role as our legal representative, ready to uncover the truth behind the violent clash that had erupted in our city. The Mooncrest police, however, regarded us with skepticism and distrust, their apprehensive eyes following our every move. At first, I wondered if they recognized George or something, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

They were watching me.

With an air of professionalism, George took the lead.

“I’m Ambassador Gevorak.” I blinked as he pulled out his badge. “I’ll need access to the incident reports and access to the two lycans who have been incarcerated.”

The police officer looked disgruntled. “Strange that you got here so fast.”

He smiled. “I happened to be visiting for other matters. Shall we?”

He grunted and started walking. It should have been a straightforward exchange, but I could sense the bias in the room, thick enough to cut with a knife.

Their reluctance to cooperate was palpable as they led us to a desk with a smug-looking police officer sitting there as if he held all the power.

I wanted to punch him on principle.