Leila Beaulieu

One of the benefits of chatting up random strangers was that Jade always learned juicy details about people’s lives. Once they’ve gotten comfortable enough around her, obviously (which usually took about five minutes into the convo). It was how she learned Cindy, who always ordered the same sandwich at Clubweigh, was preggo, or how she learned that the cashier at the grocery store was saving to send his kid to college, or how the guy waiting in line right in front of her at The Creamatorum was going to propose to his partner of two months for her birthday. (Way to potentially ruin an important date, but… she loved love, so she approved).

But like, to make it topical to the situation at hand (and where she was heading with this, give her a second), it was also how she learned about Anne’s grandson (who was like, a grown dude anyway) having really crappy nightmares. Yup. That sure perked Jade up when she first heard it, and obviously she made sure to ask the right questions, and prod just enough to realize this case might be worth looking into. (Kinda like how it had worked with Regan and Metzli a year or so ago). 

So she asked, and she listened and she learned and then, ended up offering her services. (As a sleep… doctor). And sweet Anne was super worried about her grandson, so when Jade told her about the help she could provide? She obviously jumped at the opportunity. Just like Jade jumped on the case. If her suspicions were correct she would solve the problem, though. (Sometimes it should be a little concerning how easy it was for people to believe the things she said, but if it worked in her favor it couldn’t be like, a bad thing, right?)

Even if mares were not technically in her wheelhouse, Jade armed herself with the few items she knew would work on a potential threat (the salt, a flashlight, some weapons in case things escalated) and rode on her bike to the small little cottage where the grandson lived. It tracked, who wouldn’t have awful nightmares from living close to the forest? 

Anyway. 

Thanks to Anne’s spare key (seriously, it really shouldn’t be that easy for her to get anything), she slipped inside the cabin undetected, immersing herself in total darkness. Her flashlight came to the rescue, taped to the nose of her crossbow and guiding her around uncharted territory. Finagling her way to the bedroom was super easy, given how many rooms the little cottage had, but that was when the fun and games came to a stop.

Her skin thrummed before a silhouette came into view, but when it did, Jade wasn’t Jade anymore. She was a Bloodworth, and she had a human to save. She approached with caution, and waited, cause… Van. Van. Her words always played in her head, the way only her siblings’ lessons used to. Annoyingly making her question all she’d known. Just like Metzli’s story. And Emilio’s perspective, and Regan’s skepticism, and… every other person who had latched onto the rug that was her duty and kept trying to pull it from under her feet. She did aim her crossbow, though. Cause she still had both her feet on the rug, and her boots stomped proudly, preventing it from moving further. (Where was she going with this strange analogy? Her boots were…nice? Sturdy? Sure, yup) Anyway, she was not dumb, and the mare seemed to be sharing some kinda moment with her victim. (Who actually, didn’t seem to be too terrorized, but). 

Upon closer inspection, things got even dicier.

Leila? “This is so not a good look for you, babe,” she whispered, the dot of light now pointed at her, as the crossbow moved in her direction. She refrained from sounding anything but profesh, on the account of the guy sleeping near them. “I’d stop doing whatever it is that you’re doing to the poor man,” cause the math was seriously mathing. (Pythagoras who?) “Unless… you want a matching bolt scar with your babe?” Honestly? A little romantic. Kinda like the similar stabbing scar she and Regan had on their respective right arms. 

—

It wasn’t enough. 

The three-word statement was the single thought that Leila returned to every morning, when the dusky hues of sunrise cut through the deep purple cloak of night. It wasn’t enough. It was the first thing that popped into her mind when the first stars came out and the first dreams started flickering into the astral like swirling silver on a dark sea. Nothing that she did seemed to be enough. 

It was a terrible spiral to fall into. And yet, the mare had found herself tumbling down the rabbit hole ever since Cass had sent her away at the mouth of the cave. She’d done as the girl had asked, and look how that had ended up! The ember had been snuffed out, never to warm the lives of those who loved her again. She couldn’t keep her little family safe, or ease the pain that they felt from loss or harm at the hands of others. It was why she had turned to the dreamers, the ones whose sleeps were already restless and filled with darkness. She’d found some sense of purpose there- even if it still felt like she hadn’t done enough at the end of the night.

The mission of aid had started with a single dreamer: Finn. She tried to pass his place on a regular basis, just to ensure that the nightmares of his father hadn’t returned to plague him. Slowly, however, the mare had spread her operation to those who suffered from their own mental prisons. She could wake them up if need be, or try to force the tides of their minds in some other direction. Though, it was far easier for Leila to intervene and encourage them to wake than it was to alter the dream itself. To change the dream quickly shifted to feeding on the dream, and that was not the point. 

She’d fluttered in on a breeze that made the windowpanes rattle, the whistling air that caught in the cracks sounding like the wail of a spirit. One of her regulars was having the same terror again- Leila didn’t even need to go into the dream to know that George (she had found a note on the nightstand addressed to the young man and had taken to referring to him as such) was dreaming of the same wreck on the same side of the road on the same rainy night again. The mare worried at her lower lip. She still hadn’t found a way to make the nightmares stop. Not completely. 

Just as she was about to reach out and place a hand on the dreamer’s shoulder, she heard an all-too-familiar voice hiss through the darkness. A mote of light in a perfect circle had appeared just above her clavicle. Bright red eyes peered through the dark and locked onto the slayer with the crossbow. Jade. Shit. Leila’s hand hovered in midair, frozen in place. George whimpered in his sleep, shifting restlessly as his dream continued. He needed to wake up… 

“Jade, I’m not here to hurt him.” The mare’s voice was so quiet that the wind outside nearly swallowed the noise completely. “I was here to help. So please… lower the crossbow…” 

__

There was not supposed to be room for explanations. Nope, correction. There could be a bajillion explanations, that was totally fine and chill, but at the end of the day, Jade was not supposed to hear any of them, let alone be receptive to them. She was supposed to cover her ears and go La la la. Cause explanations meant nothing when people ended up hurt anyway, right? That’s what Van had said. So really, Leila could have her reasons for needing a midnight snack, undead couldn’t help themselves most of the time, the monster within ended up taking the wheel eventually. Jade got that she had reasons. But she couldn’t do anything about it, she couldn’t let it get in the way of what the world needed her to do. Duty was duty. A stake needed to be plunged, a head needed to be removed, yada yada. For the sake of humankind. (Or duty used to be duty) (Now it was more like, a poorly crafted remix that would only see the light of day on Soundcloud)

She waited for Bloodworth’s theme to swell another time, to remind her there was mercy in taking out (in killing) (of course her mind could correct that easily) undead, but the radio seemed to be off. It was just her, and her crossbow aimed at Leila, only the strong whistling of the wind as ambiance. Leila. The same Leila she had met briefly when they teamed up to roast Chuy. Or the same one who’d threatened her on Ariadne’s behalf. And even, the one Regan had unintentionally injured not too long ago. It was a pretty hefty dynamic for two people who only met briefly. It was actually about time their paths crossed on their own, wasn’t it? (Like a long-awaited tv episode). 

Going with the script, Leila’s explanation came and Jade heard it, but it rang untrue in her ears. Help how? Like, she was known for jumping the gun from time to time, alright? She knew this about herself (it wasn’t a flaw, it was a character trait). But this? This was a little too suspicious. Anybody would’ve thought the same, right? Like… “You’re by a guy’s bed, a guy who I know for a fact, has been having recurrent nightmares. Do you see where I’m going with this?” She knew taking out (killing) (killing) Leila would only make everything worse. Like, she and Metzli might actually have to showdown for like, the hundredth time, and Regan? This was her friend, for better or for worse and… wasn’t she just getting the hang of friendship again? How could Jade take one of ‘em away? Her heart pounded in her chest, every beat louder as she waited, the way Van had asked of her. (She was good at following her siblings' demands, wasn’t she?) (This was just… a different kind of siblinghood).

She wanted to lower her crossbow, just like Leila pleaded. She wanted her explanation to make sense. The thought alone filled her with shame. (Why. Why was it so hard?). She wasn’t supposed to hear. Her index finger pressed lightly over the trigger, ready to be squeezed if she got over her need to hear. And what a mess it would be, sure. But she was used to mess, she could make another one, as long as she was right. As long as she kept humans safe. “How is any of this helpful, Leila?” The irony was lost on her. 

—

If there was a list of people that Leila wished to never run into in that little coastal town, Jade’s name would be scrawled at the top of the list. And that was with only knowing of her on the periphery of her life! It was enough, though. The slayer had nearly killed two of the people she held dearest in the world simply for what they were. It didn’t seem to matter that there was a person at the heart of the creature that was made. The mare was fairly certain the only reason that Metzli and Ariadne were still counted amongst the living was because of some relationship or another that the slayer had with the non-undead in town. She was Regan’s partner, wasn’t she? Perhaps that had something to do with it…

The little green dot seemed to taunt her as Jade spoke. Look how close you are to death! It glinted in the dark, focused on her neck. One good shot, the slash of a knife, and you’ll be nothing but dust and ashes… The space in her chest where her heart should be beating like a jackhammer gave a phantom lurch. Leila knew how incriminating it looked. A mare at bedside, a hand ready to lay on the arm of a dreamer in repose, bright red eyes gleaming like some demon from a horror story. But Jade couldn’t smell the fear. She couldn’t tell that the dream had already soured. 

Explain yourself. She felt as if she were on trial- only her judge was also playing the role of jury and executioner. And she, the defendant, was already sat before the chopping block. “I can smell fear,” Leila forced her voice to stay steady, though her eyes remained fixed on the sharp bolt at the end of the crossbow. “I can tell when a dream is already bad- I’m not here to make a nightmare, I’m trying- I’m trying to wake him up…” 

It was so strange to note her own fear in the room with that of a dreamers. It didn’t smell like dream fear, it didn’t give the same heady sensation. It tasted bitter. It felt like cold ice water thrown down her back. Disappear, her instincts cried. Hide in the astral! Fly away from here! But Leila had a feeling that the bolt would find its mark in her if she did. 

__

It wasn’t the first time she heard that concept before. From the days Amber (the most patient of her teachers) (er, siblings) sat with her and went over common undead lore, to Wynne claiming Ariadne helped with their nightmares. And mostly recently, Xo and Wyatt mentioning Mateo helped them sleep better. Unlike vampires, mare could have purpose. They could use their cursed unlife for good. (Until of course, the hunger got out of control) (That was always a risk). Jade could… give them that, to some degree. Not happily, mind you, but she’d heard enough evidence to loosen the grip on the notion that every mare fed till they caused death. 

But to jump from the theory that was her reluctantly allowing that addendum to exist in her codes to letting Leila just off the hook cause…she claimed she wasn’t doing anything wrong? That was like, a whole different ball game. It didn’t work like that, nothing was ever so simple.  

It was always interesting seeing a mare show their fear. Leila didn’t have to look at Jade to sense it. (Not sense it sense it, just… the tension was thick enough to feel it in the air) (Her blade could’ve cut through it, for sure). She’d seen the same emotion in Ariadne, screaming and begging inside the salt circle to be let go, she saw it in Leila now, despite only a flashlight illuminating the faint creases in her skin. She had a good poker face, but Jade was calling her bluff. It was super weird to be the source of said fear. She was scary? Oh, if her siblings could see her now! She’d never hear another little snide comment ever. Was it nice to be feared? Did that mean she was a better slayer than everyone gave her credit for? Was she good, then? (She was, right!?) (Yup) She wanted to be good so desperately. 

Would a good slayer give Leila the chance to explain, though? That tiny little detail rattled Jade like someone had dropped a bucket of cold water over her head. “How do I know you’re not the one who’s planting the nightmares in the first place? Why should I believe this isn’t an excuse now that I’ve caught you?” This is what Wynne wanted, right? For her to be judge? To decide on some arbitrary vibe if she believed Leila or not, if she should shoot her crossbow or not? Would Wynne see how flawed that system was now? When it came down to one human to make the choice? When it was her perspective against the other woman’s version and both sound equally plausible? Would Van see that innocent until proven guilty meant nothing when guilty could always be a misunderstanding? When Leila was caught ‘red handed’, but it might not be what it looked like? Was this why Emilio carried so much guilt and anger and… Cause, no matter what everybody told her…Right about now? No choice felt better, no decision made her chest lighter than carrying out her duty would. Had she shot her crossbow and got on with the slaying, none of this would be plaguing her mind. 

But she liked choices, didn’t she? Jade made so many of them all the time. Cause she was not a puppet. Or an instrument. (She’d been making choices since…) (Like, she remembered the first time that…) (Or, okay what about when…) This shouldn’t be too hard, right? Making a choice. It shouldn’t be making her belly queasy and her lungs tiny and… cause she knew what making choices meant. (It was also the perfect time to remind herself she needed to breathe). Didn’t she? She’d picked a couch recently! That was a big choice (there we go!). So she could do this. “I’m going to… lower my crossbow. Do not play with me, Leila,” and Jade sincerely hoped that if Leila were to ever believe a word that left her lips, it would be that threat. The nose bowed slightly, just enough that if triggered, it would still hit Leila, just nowhere it could cause serious harm. And… how could she even begin to prove the big ol’ misunderstanding? The only thing Jade could think of was getting his word. “Does he know you already? Will he be weirded out if you wake him up and we’re all here having a slumber party?”  

—

The crossbow lowered. 

Thank fucking god, the crossbow lowered. 

Leila watched the arrow dip ever so slightly towards the ground- no, not the dirt, her leg. After all, in the eyes of a slayer, she was still a great, deadly monster that needed decapitating. The mare forced herself to take a slow, shaky breath in an attempt to collect herself, her own sickly sweet fear a stone in her throat. She couldn’t help but wonder: if Jade did not like the answer that Leila gave, would she raise the bolt back up, aim just above her collar bone and let an arrow loose? 

It didn’t matter. Her trial at the hands of judge, jury, and potential executioner was beginning…

“He doesn’t know me in the waking world,” Her confession was not starting out strong. “But he’s seen me in his dreams. I’ve let myself be seen.” It was a correction that might cost her. After all, normal people didn’t seem to know about the supernatural, even in a town utterly filled with them. If a strange woman started popping up in people’s nightmares offering to keep the shadows of people’s minds at bay and then was seen in the real world, it wouldn’t bode well for the supernatural community. Somewhere, in the back of Leila’s mind, she knew this. But it was so, so easy for it to be blotted out by some foolish desire to do good. Make good.

In the bed, George tossed over again. The fear was getting worse, cutting through the air like a knife. It wasn’t likely that Jade would let her slip into the boy’s mind and turn the dream to something that wouldn’t plague him. She sucked a sharp breath in before continuing, trying to ignore the instinct to sink into his dream. “I find dreams that have already gone dark- not all nightmares are caused by Mares, there aren’t enough of us in the world to do that- I turn the dream to something else that isn’t what it started as, I tell them it’s just a dream, and I go. That’s all.”

__

So, bad news, chat… things weren’t off to a great start. Womp womp. Jade’s eyebrows pinched together when Leila said the man didn’t know her outside the astral world. Like, come on! Give her something. Didn’t everyone want a happy ending to all of this? But Jade was now certain, as in, taking Leila’s words at face value, that if George were to wake up, his most likely reaction would be to freak out about the woman in his nightmares standing by his bed. Nope, that was the stuff of horror movies. “You let him see you…Don’t you guys have rules and stuff about that kinda thing?” She was actually asking in earnest. Like, why was it so important for Leila that he saw her face? Some kinda hero complex? Jade wouldn’t know, she’d never experienced anything like that ever in her life. Her crossbow bobbed, but just cause she adjusted her full weight onto the other leg. “Like, he’s gonna be out buying groceries one day and then poof! The woman from his nightmares is gonna show up in the flesh?” That was a hypothetical scenario, obviously. But if so-called good mares existed, wouldn’t they try to vouch for the secrecy of their species to avoid losing their literal heads? Wouldn’t they try to go about it in a sneaky way? Not… planting giant Billboards of their faces in the middle of a dream, like those annoying YouTube ads. 

Jade made no verdict based on that initial statement though, and look at her not jumping the gun! Cause sure, it wasn’t a great start, but they weren’t suddenly 4-0 on the score with a minute to go. (Soccer, that was a soccer reference). Plus, who hadn’t been the victim of a really crappy first impression? (Well, she’d never ever made a bad first impression) (But as it had already been established, she was always the exception to the rule). She was cautiously waiting for Leila to level the field. And wasn’t that what Van wanted? To judge humans and undead on a similar scale? Or well, not a similar, that was a little too far, too season six Jade when the ratings had plummeted and nobody cared anymore, and the characters were playing musical chairs in terms of romance, but at least on a different scale from her current one, which had been deemed tinkered or fixed by several people now.  

In bed, George tossed like he also wanted a resolution to all of this. But possibly? His nightmare was getting worse too. And okay, alright. Leila might be a talented mare (she actually didn’t know her credentials) but to keep tormenting the guy and have this very tense convo with Jade? It wasn’t mathing. Which, for once, sounded like a good thing. A sliver of hope in Leila’s case. It was looking a good sixty-nine percent probable that Leila wasn’t the culprit. And Jade sure loved the taste of that sixty-nine. Focus, Leila was speaking, describing her M.O. And… it didn’t sound farfetched either. Or, did it? And, sorry, old habits die hard (which was one of those phrases that would probably have Regan breaking into hives, by the way), but her hunter brain was still buzzing. Still screaming at her to stick to the rulebook. She could almost hear Onyx, verbatim. (But why wasn’t he clearer?) Did it matter what good Leila might have done for George one night, when any slip up, any loss of control could result in his death? And wouldn’t his death be entirely Jade’s fault? Didn’t she have the chance to remove the threat altogether? But instead, she was wasting time yapping.

Her crossbow bobbed again, this time intentionally, questions and doubts spinning around her like the scariest swarm of wasps, sending shockwaves down her spine. Her fingertip caressed the trigger. Was she so easily swayed these days? Did she want to let her brother down? After all he’d done for her? Didn’t she owe him this small thing? To make the world better for humans, just like she promised him they would?   

Jade thought of Metzli, of the night she let her blade sink on the ground instead of their chest. She thought of Ariadne, and the way Jade skewed the salt circle to allow the girl to escape the deadly swing of her axe. Back then, Jade had been iron-willed about keeping those instances as exceptions. Never be caught slippin’ again. Those were just oopsies, they couldn’t ruin her entire career. But then Van happened, and Vic happened and… They weren’t just things she let happen by accident. They were not isolated anymore. They were choices. Bad choices (right?). Choices that pushed her further and further away from her true calling. Choices that kept drawing more and more wedges between her and the people who raised her. The only people who wanted her to be good. Wasn’t she a horrible sister if she failed?

But now, standing in front of Leila, crossbow half raised again (but almost as limp as her duty), she had absolutely no clue what the bad choice was supposed to be. She hoped this was proof to the audience at home that she should never, under any circumstances be in charge of the court. But, proof… speaking of proof. She’d seen ‘How to Get Away with Murder’, she like… had some knowledge about it. Sorta. The people were hot, that was her only interest, really. But anyway. Proof. Evidence. She had to ask for it. “Do it,” her gaze darted toward George, who, if the sheen on his skin was any indication, was now sweating this nightmare. “Fix it. Or wake him up, do something.” 

—

Well, she wasn’t dead yet. That was a good start, right?

The mare watched the tip of the arrow dip and bob gently in the slayer’s weak grip, as if both hunter and weapon had not yet decided whether or not the kill was a worthy pursuit. It was hard to think, Leila thought, when the threat of a permanent death was on the table. 

But it wasn’t so wrong what she was doing, was it? It wasn’t wrong to try to be something better, something different than the state of being prescribed to them. She had seen her little family of othered beings grapple with that sentiment time and again. Monsters were not inherently monstrous. The world - the ‘normal’ world consisting of human and animal and plant and nothing greater than that - had stuck the things they feared, that they convinced themselves should-not-could-not exist, into that other category of Monster. Labeled monster. Assigned monster. No consideration of the soul that the so-called monster possessed. No care if they were once a normal human. Maybe that was the way slayers were taught: to be a Captial M Monster is to be monstrous, therefore should be must be done away with. 

Would the arrow hurt? If Jade raised the bolt back up, target aimed at her throat, and loosed an arrow would it hurt very much or would this second life be over? Would the slayer need a knife, or an axe to finish the job? Or would it be fast? Would Leila be there one moment, a person in form, and the next be nothing but shimmering dust left to catch on the breeze? She wasn’t eager to find out, but she wondered if she would either way. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe, if the souls of creatures like her were permitted some rest beyond death, she would see Cass again. 

Do it. Fix it. 

It felt like a trick. Follow Jade’s orders, help the dreamer, and then get killed as a reward. The fact of the matter was that Leila knew what Jade had almost done too many times to count. What she’d done to Metzli, to Ariadne… She couldn’t trust Jade. But… she couldn’t let George suffer either. Slowly, she let her hand fall on the dreamer’s arm. The dream was already bad- a world of shattered glass, of despair, of flashing lights, of fear. I’m here, she wanted to say. It’s alright, you’ll be alright, I’m here. Little by little, she pulled at the weft of the dream, changing the scene to inky nothing, a blank canvas, hoping the absence could grant a little piece. 

___

Jade had no idea what Leila could possibly be overthinking about. Like, come on! She was being given a golden chance to show she could do good! Wouldn’t everybody jump at the opportunity to prove themselves? Wouldn’t everybody itch at the thought of proving how wrong someone was? (Not that… she was ever wrong, obviously. Just… hypothetically). Didn’t Leila wanna show Jade how helpful she claimed to be? Why would she fumble an ideal ‘I told you so’ moment? Why… Oh, okay, alright… Finally, she’d done it. A hand wrapped softly around Geoge’s arm, and then she was off— inside him (mare style). Her body was still by his side, but she wasn’t tuning into Jade’s presence anymore. Which was probably for the best anyway, cause she knew how distracting she was for people usually. That was just the beginning, though. Jade had to make sure Leila came through. The fastest, easiest way to do that was by tracking his heartbeat. So she focused on that, listening to the drumming in his chest, trying super hard not to think about how it might be the last time it ever beat. And how that would totally be her fault. 

His rate wasn’t exactly slowing down, and he continued to toss and mumble. Crap. What was taking so long? Jade adjusted the hold on her crossbow, setting the guide on Leila’s neck. Just… just in case. The chances of a plot twist were low but never zero, and she was feeling pretty edged right now. Her own shallow breathing got in the way of checking on George. Her hands were clammy, and the nose of the bow kept dipping, almost like it had gained weight overnight. Almost like it wasn’t just holding the quiver and the bolts anymore. And sure, maybe it wasn’t just the weight of the weapon at fault here. Maybe it was the impotence of her duty weakening her wrist. But no one was around to prove it, so for Jade, this was obviously not on her. It was never on her (cause why would it be, right?). 

Forget about all of that, Jade only had eyes and ears for George now. Except… not really. Not even remotely, that was a terrible lie. She’d never been a one-thought-at-a-time type of girly, and it had only gotten worse once everyone started planting doubts in her head. As if she needed more mental tabs open. Jade.exe was super close to freezing, she was positive. She wanted to focus on George, and his safety. She wanted to focus on herself, and her rulebook. She wanted to focus on Leila, and the threat her existence posed to innocent people. Right? Was that not how the script went? (Why couldn’t it be as easy as it used to be?) But for every pained expression that man managed in his slumber, her focus fractured further. The man whimpered in his sleep, and it wasn’t him in her head, it was Regan, or Van or… Wouldn’t Jade want their nightmares soothed too? Wasn’t it a good thing? Wasn’t it merciful too? (Nope, that was a slippery slope). Where was her limit? The line she wouldn’t cross? Would she go as far as asking help from a… from someone who was cursed with unlife? Who could hold someone’s fate at her fingertips? (Huh…) (Why was that… Right, sorry, no time for tangents or hypotheticals). 

Slowly, like really slowly (probably two full ‘Run Away with Mes’), he stopped fussing. His body went soft, then his breath evened out. The beat of his heart became gentle thuds, but Jade wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be relieved. There was no phew! exhaled yet. What if something went down inside his head? What if Leila screw up and his heartbeat kept diving. Or worse (?), what if she didn’t screw up and this was always the plan, getting a full course meal and then squaring up to Jade with full HP? Whether she liked it or not, though…Leila had done something. Jade didn’t breathe, didn’t blink for several beats, until George’s face turned peaceful, eyelids twitching a little but very clearly still vibing in the world of the living. Jade, on the other hand, was the opposite. Her shoulders were rock solid, her skin buzzed, the air in the room didn’t reach her lungs anymore, and when it did it felt toxic.

She was wrong. 

Pretty wrong, if the slow breath George drew next was any indication. Which was… sorta, kinda weird. Jade was never wrong. (Right?) (Um...right?). Her chest heaved, cause if she was wrong (if Leila was right, more like), then… then. (?) How many times had she been wrong before? How many unlives that could’ve served a purpose beyond violence had she ended? Wrong, she was wrong. And that meant…Nope, she couldn’t be. Cause that would mean her siblings were wrong. Their teachings, their training, their lineage, their legacy, all of it. A sham? It couldn’t be. She could be wrong, sure. Jade had admittedly, flopped once or twice. (Who kept the score anyway?). But… but how could Onyx be wrong about this? When he’d put himself beneath the wellbeing of humankind, when he’d taught Jade to do the same? Where were any of them now, actually? When her conviction hung by a thread? Why wasn’t Ruby by her side, whispering a winning argument about why Leila’s good intentions didn’t matter? Good and bad were different from dangerous, yada, yada. Where were Onyx’s reminders to push through despite her obvious shortcomings? Like, she’d even take Jasper screaming at her to get it together! Why the radio silence? She couldn’t hear any of their echoes, couldn’t pick up their old frequency. 

Instead— The dissonance had never rang louder in her ears. Had never been harder to ignore.

Her eyes prickled, and she didn’t think this was allergies. Jade wanted to turn her mind off, change the station, or scream louder, overpower whatever was inside her head. There was no harmony to it, no melody, no texture. Just pure, unbearable clashing. She was wrong. Maybe not so hypothetically, for once. And somehow, her imperfect training, and her poor judgment, and her impulsiveness, and her fierce righteousness didn't feel like super fun character traits anymore. They were lowkey looking like total red flags. Or, okay… beige, maybe? At least. Sal…mon? (The antis were gonna have a field day on Twitter) (And you know what? Maybe they deserved it). 

She didn’t recall being so wired the night she let Metzli go. Nope, she’d been angry, mostly. Frustrated over the small dent in her solo career. And then, not a whole lot of thinking went down that evening with Ariadne, either. (Duh). Her brain had taken a full month of vacation, all expenses covered, somewhere that was definitely not Ireland but if you listened closely you might hear a little Celtic tune. Whatever processing she should’ve done went straight to ‘ignore’ and ‘postpone’ until another time. To the voicemail that was her conscience, so to speak. Here though? In George’s suddenly quiet, dark cabin… with no danger in sight except her own crossbow? Jade felt herself reel. Could not escape the weight of months and months (or, on a deeper level, even years and years) of avoidance crushing her chest and lungs like… yup, one of those famous compression machines from TikTok. Of course. 

But she had to snap out of it. Get over it. Jade wasn’t normally the type of person who needed to drown in booze to ignore the world (maybe Emilio was onto something though), but boy did she wanna be outside of her body now, or at least numb everything down until the ripples were over. Until she could avoid the incoming crash out. She had to avoid that. That would be so embarrassing for her. Her lungs still felt teeny tiny inside her chest, and the knot in her throat kept blocking the air. She stumbled backward, bumping against the wall of the bedroom. Her crossbow fired to the ground. Shoot. Somehow the action sobered her up. She managed to press the metaphorical snooze button on her mental breakdown for what was probably the last time, and she speedran the rest of her emotions to a point where she could decide how to act. (And hey! At least her siblings could be proud that she learned that one trick).

She couldn’t stay, obviously. No freaking way. She couldn’t wait until Leila left the astral world. She didn’t want to wait, didn’t want to see her face. Didn’t want to acknowledge that she was wrong (or that Leila was right), wanted to acknowledge the fact that she hadn’t carried out her duty again (!) even less. She had to go. Run back to her bike, ride to the Three Daggers and unwind. Maybe she’d find a rugged hunter to snap the sense of duty back into her. And if Leila ended up killing George after all, then... Jade would find out. She’d correct this mistake. Her mistake. Her stupid, foolish choice to go against everything she’d ever known. For what? More math that didn’t math? More horrible jarring dissonance in her head? Who did she think she was, really? To skew from the path laid out for her by better hunters?  

Enough with the avalanche of questions. Jade let out a shuddering breath, teeth chattering for some reason, lungs finally full of oxygen, which sorta silenced every lingering thought that could’ve ruined the night even more. George was safe for now, that was (in some convoluted way) a completed task. So she slipped out of the room and into the darkness of the forest, letting Leila comfort him through the night. 

—

She waited for it. The needle sharp jab of a dagger to the throat. Leila sat in the dream of a stranger, willing their own demons to die away for a little while, and waited for death at the hands of an impatient (or perhaps entirely too patient) Jade. But it didn’t come. One second, two, five, twenty… time stretched on and on in the dark she had created. In it’s shelter, George’s shallow breathing steadied. The fear that wafted off him like a king’s feast became fainter and fainter. 

And still, no pain. And still, no death.

Had she expected it? For death to come? Like a debt collector she had skirted over the centuries and had finally caught up? Because she would not stopped for Death, it had- instead of kindly stopping for her- chased her until it caught her? Yes- the answer that flickered through the mare’s mind came as a surprise. No. She’s grown so used to life, or at least the facade of it. And despite the constant ache of loss, the want to see those who had gone ahead again, she wasn’t ready to leave her family. It wouldn’t have been fair to Metzli, to Ariadne, to those who would have been left behind. 

But that was the thing about death: it was never fair for the living. It was the dead that did not have to suffer the loss. She’d avoided it so long, Leila thought, that she’d begun to forget that simple fact.