06. Doing taxes

"Are you alright?"

They were seated in Vincent's personal car, an old Ford he refused to ever change. Ethan could bet his soul Vincent was in love with it.

After a supposedly epic fight with Ashlyn last night, Victoria had suggested he go for a walk. He went home, and came back to pick them up in the morning.

Now they were going home.

And Victoria was looking at him with her brows furrowed.

"Couldn't sleep," Ethan managed a smile

"Have you been doing drugs again?" Vincent asked, turning around

"Again?" Victoria said sharply, looking between them

"For the last time," Ethan kicked the back of Vincent's seat "I'm not doing drugs. Even if I was, I wouldn't tell you."

"Just because I said I wouldn't tell Tory doesn't mean I meant it." Vincent shrugged, turning the steering wheel "Its for your own good."

Ethan gave him a flat look "Does my being your Alpha mean nothing to you?"

"Not really, no."

Ethan sighed, and promised himself he'd continue this argument when he wasn't so tired. He wished he'd brought his journal with him. Found something in its pages to divert himself from the ever building ache in his chest.

"Keep an eye on him," Vincent stage-whispered to his twin

"I will," Victoria stage-whispered back, then turned to face Ethan "What did you and Roselyn talk about?"

Ethan closed his eyes "Not much. I saw her in college on the last day. We talked, she didn't know who I was."

"She seems like a really nice girl."

He could feel a headache building at the back of his head.

"And she's obviously interested in you."

He wished he could begin to explain what was happening to him.

"And we do need a Luna."

Ethan took a deep breath, and exhaled, pushing the stiffness from his shoulders. He opened his eyes and focused. The scenery running past them, the leather seats of the car, his toes in his shoes.

"You already know my answer, Troy."

She let out an exasperated sigh "Ethan, if I told you there's someone out there who needs your help in something serious and the only way to get them out is to marry them, you would."

Ethan raised his brows "I don't think Roselyn needs that sort of help."

Victoria rubbed her fingers at her temple "Never mind."

"You should give it some thought," Vincent said, unusually serious

"That's it," Ethan narrowed his eyes "You're the one doing drugs, and you keep pinning it on me to keep attention off of yourself."

"My body is a temple," Vincent flexed a bicep "And I'm not telling you to get married. I'm saying you should see someone. Go on dates. Have some fun for once, you know?"

"I have plenty of fun."

"What? You do taxes?"

"At least I know how to do taxes."

"Let's talk about what I know how to do," Vincent wiggled his brows in the rear mirror

"Let's not." Victoria shot him a look

Ethan let out a sigh, both relieved and annoyed when they dropped the subject and started bickering instead.

The moment they made it home, Ethan made himself a cup of instant coffee and stumbled into his room.

Sipping coffee, he wondered what he needed to do now. There was a list of matters that demanded his attention, but bone tired as he was, he was going to mess those up.

He had four jobs.

He couldn't be sick like this.

Ethan drank his coffee to the dregs, pulled out a coin from his drawer and hurried downstairs.

…

The entrance to the Witch Town was as he remembered.

Ethan put the gold coin in the old wending machine.

It shouldn't have worked, considering the machine was empty, but lights whirred and it slide aside, giving was to a passage.

Ethan walked in.

And hit his head against the roof.

Wincing curses, he bent his head to walk through. He hadn't been here since he was seventeen. Tenth hell, was he this short back then?

Soon enough, he found himself standing in a new place. One that definitely didn't belong in America.

Crooked buildings stood leaning on each other, the sky was grey with clouds. It was colder here, but the air was still humid.

Breath clouding, Ethan made his way through the familiar streets, footsteps lost in the noise of the town.

Witch Town was a sort of neutral territory of which not many knew. Most residents were witches, but he could recognize Lycans and Werewolves here and there, humans and even the occasional vampire.

You could gain entrance in only one of two ways.

Swearing secrecy with a blood oath and a bag of gold.

Or saving a witch or warlock's life without knowing what it would grant you.

Good thing then that he was rich.

A hundred memories swarmed in his head as Ethan walked, every now and then he'd see a shop or a building he'd been to before, when he used to come every Wednesday. Every thing here was tainted with memories.

So he'd stopped coming.

After walking— and getting lost— for about twenty minutes, he stood before the façade of a familiar building.

He knocked on the worn door.

A slit opened from no where, and a single amber eye looked down at him.

Ethan held up the peace offering he'd brought with himself "I brought wine."

The sound of several locks clicking open filled the cold air, and then the door swung open.

Rannoch grinned at him, not a day older than what Ethan had last seen him as.

"If it isn't my favorite visitor." The warlock stepped aside to let him in

"You wouldn't have opened the door if I'd come empty handed," Ethan stepped over the threshold, and immediately felt warmer

"True that."

Rannoch was quick to take the bottle, examining it as he walked ahead. Ethan followed, the house was much larger than it looked on the outside.

As they walked, doors vanished and different ones appeared, hallways shifted and the floorboards changed into carpets and marble.

Finally Rannoch entered a living room, and all but collapsed in an armchair. He waved a hand and two glasses appeared on the table before him.

"Well, what made you come out here again?" The warlock asked, pouring the wine

"Can't I just come to visit?" Ethan raised a brow, accepting the glass that floated his way

Rannoch grinned "What do you want?"

He settled in a chair across from the warlock's. Ethan took a swing of the wine, and sighed. Sometimes, he really wished he could get drunk.

"I have a question." He said

That piqued Rannoch's interest, he smiled like a cheshire cat "I'm all ears."

In a very brief speech, Ethan told him what had happened in the past few days. Given what the warlock knew of him, he didn't need the context.

"Very interesting," Rannoch swirled his glass, tipping his head back in thought "Yours has always been a very interesting case."

"Nobody would ever call me boring" Ethan said dispassionately "Do you know how I can stop this?"

The warlock let go of his glass, and it stayed suspended in air. Rannoch walked over to the other side of the room, tracing lean fingers along books in a tall shelf.

"Lycans are such an interesting species," he murmured, bright amber eyes turned his way "You say you were reminded of Melody instantly after?"

Ethan nodded, ignoring how the words stung.

Rannoch watched his profile for any reaction "More wine?"

"Answers would suffice."

"Species that mate for life mourn separation from their partners, sometimes to the point that their grief kills them. Same is the case with Lycantropes." Rannoch leaned against the shelf

If he was starting from grade school facts, this was bound to be bad.

"You were pretty young when you were separated from your mate," He said calmly "And immediate circumstances required you to put your own grief aside. In fact, you managed to completely repress your Lycan impulse."

"Let me guess," Ethan leaned back in his chair "Somehow, my Lycan side got triggered to wake up and now it's grieving?"

Rannoch gave him a lopsided smile "Close." His smile slipped "But the way you put it, and given what I can sense, yours isn't just grieving."

Ethan didn't let himself think "Then?"

"Yours is dying, Ethan. You're dying."

For a moment, they both stared at each other. Ethan set his glass on the table.

"I'm dying then?" It was impossible to feel anything as he spoke

"It's like a cancer," Rannoch cleared his throat "Like a vital organ decaying."

"And how do I stop myself from dying?" Ethan raised his brows, needing the nonchalant words

"You could've tried a mating ceremony," Rannoch pressed his lips in a line "But— it's too late for that now. You probably can't touch anyone without throwing up."

Silence stretched out, taunt as a rope.

"Huh."

"Ahem, are you alright?" Rannoch watched his blank face with rising concern

"I'm thinking," Ethan felt almost detached from himself "I cant be the first Lycan to survive this. There must be someone else. Someone must've found a way."

"If there is one, I don't know of it."

The reason he had ever found Rannoch was that he was at least two hundred years old.

Ethan wanted to pace. He wanted to lie down. He wanted to rip out every book in this place and hunt its pages for an answer.

He remained where he was.

He pushed those thoughts in the furthest drawers of his mind.

"There must be someone who knows," Ethan asked, his mind racing "What about the royals? They must have created some way to live without their mates, if need be."

Rannoch tipped his head in thought, white blond hair falling over his face.

"There's a witch I know," he said after an eternity "She's crazy, she's hideous and she greedier than anyone I know. But she's old enough to know something."

"Good." Ethan stood up "How do I find her?"

"By a dumb ritual," Rannoch rolled his amber eyes, looking irritated "Gods, she's so old school."

He waved a hand, and a pen began scribbling something over a paper. Ethan caught it as it came his way.

"Thanks, Rannoch," Ethan said "I'll send you another bottle."

Unlike what he'd expected, Rannoch didn't jump to agree at the offer. Rather, he smiled.

"I suggest you spend time with friends, Alpha." He said "You don't have much of that to spare."

Ethan put the paper in his coat.

"We'll see about that."