Fangs of Fate (Untish #1)

Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

TATE

Fletch was reclining by the fire, a glass of bloodwine in his hand. His usual tranquil expression was meddled with worry. I was likely the cause of it. I shut the door and strode over to the overstuffed chair opposite him. He didn’t even look up…he was pissed.

“I uh…need to talk to you,” I broke the silence. His gaze stayed transfixed on the flames. Stubborn mule. “Fletch, something strange happened, and I…I don’t know what to make of it.” At last, he met my eyes, and for once I couldn’t read his expression.

“Did you know, Tate, that your mother loved the sea. She said it was full of power and mystery—that she could draw her strength from it. Funny, isn’t it?” He tapped his fingers on the glass of wine.

I didn’t answer, he rarely chose to speak of my mother.

“She was a free soul, a rule follower, the best warrior my generation had seen, and yet, it was the sea that made her nervous while simultaneously brave. The sea. A place she wanted her remains to be scattered and a place she will never see again because of him ,” he spat the last word. The earlier vision of President Dale standing over the husk came to mind. Except it was my mother this time, my sweet brave mother, who was reduced to a dried-out bag of skin because of the monster who now ruled our Glenn.

“I hate him,” I spoke without thinking.

“And yet…you smell like his son.” His words were an unexpected blow.

“I…I didn’t invite that attention from Chance.”

“Didn’t you? Don’t you always?”

“That’s not fair Fletch, and you know it. We were close once and now we’re enemies.”

“Tate, I believe I’ve always given you reasons to trust me. A truth for a truth. I believe I’ve garnered honesty from you.”

“I am being honest.” I adjusted in my seat, the springs whining with my movement.

He wouldn’t respond, just kept staring at the flames. How could I tell him about what happened when he was in this kind of mood? I stood; we’d have this conversation later. Before I could make it to the edge of the rug, he reached out and gently grabbed my wrist.

“The trial today brought back a lot of unpleasant memories. Memories of your mother,” his voice was a mere whisper. “I’m sorry for lashing out.” He looked so tired and suddenly so much older. Fragile even.

Chance’s warning filled my ears. The guara was watching Fletch and he suddenly looked so small, so vulnerable. I squatted down in front of him, cupping his hand in mine.

“Fletch, you need to be more careful. Chance said that the guara is watching you because of your speaking about mythical creatures, like the Untish, in class. I heard you today. And…I got the impression that things are stirring up, Chance alluded to another war coming.”

“Hmm. President Dale would like that,” he said, pausing to empty his glass. “He wants an ignorant generation. Do you know what’s more dangerous and powerful than any skill or magical gift? Knowledge. President Dale wants to strip it from you and from these kids. I’d rather die than let him do that.”

The thought terrified me. I couldn’t lose Fletch too.“It’s just a fairytale, Fletch. The Untish aren’t real. Why are you so selfish?” I rubbed my forehead; this was not how I wanted this to go. “Just…just stop spreading tales and follow the rules in school. I don’t like the idea of your allegiance being questioned.”

He pulled his hand from mine and lifted the bottle of wine to his lips. He tipped it back and took another long swig, draining it before picking up a new bottle of wine from the floor next to two other empty bottles. He grabbed the cork with his teeth and popped it before putting the bottle straight to his lips. Odd for Fletch to forgo a glass. He loved to be a snob about following etiquette.

“Tate, the Untish aren’t mythical. They were real. They are real.” Now I knew the wine was getting to him. No one had ever seen a Untish. In school, we’d been taught that they never existed and there weren’t any articles of them in the Village Capitol Library. I stood and grabbed his elbows, lifting him with me. He needed to sleep this off.

“Fletch, you’ve had too much. Get some sleep. I have to be at the clinic tomorrow morning for my shift, but when we come back, we can?—”

He brushed my hands off and stopped moving. Locking eyes with mine, his gaze boring into my soul. Even with his gaze focused, he faltered a bit, the bottle sloshing red over the dark wood floor.

“Tate, I’ve been so wrong. I thought that protecting you and not exposing everything was right,but?—”

He stumbled over the ottoman, nearly falling. I reached out and steadied him. I hadn’t seen him this hammered…ever.

“Ok, hush now. You’ve always taken good care of me Fletch, let’s just get you to bed.” His weight was bearing down on me and keeping him upright was beginning to get difficult.

“No, Tate listen to me!” He dropped the bottle to the floor, red gushing all over the floor, and gripped my shoulders. “There’s much we need to speak of. And soon, we don’t have much time.”

What was he talking about? I didn’t have time to respond before Fletch crumbled to the floor, slipping through my grip, and began laughing like a lunatic.

“Gods Fletch, how much did you have?”

“What does it matter? We’re all on borrowed time.” He sat there sitting in a puddle of bloodwine. It was the most unsophisticated I’d ever seen him.

He was incoherent. I needed him sober to talk about what had happened. He needed to heed my warning from Chance. I shook my head, tomorrow. I’d talk to him tomorrow. In the meantime, I should be making him coffee and cleaning the floor. But this was the first time I’d heard Fletch laugh, really laugh, in over a year. So, I sat down next to him and grabbed the bottle. It was practically empty but thank blood the wine was thick and about a quarter of it remained in the bottle. After taking a long swig I decided to heed sage wisdom, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. With that, I took another swig and kicked off my shoes. Time to let go a bit.