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wants.
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Brayden seemed immune to either end of the strange
spectrum. Brayden didn't look at Wil like he wanted to eat
him alive, and he was only as kind and respectful toward Wil
as he was toward anyone else. There was nothing... lurking.
The Guardian Brayden may be, but he was also the first
person Wil had encountered ever who treated Wil exactly
like he treated everyone else. Half-trusting Brayden, for as
long as it lasted, seemed like the smartest thing right now.
"Well, Mother," Wil murmured to the ground, "whoever
you are, if you are, it appears I am accepting your Gift, such
as it is. You've not exactly left me much of a choice." He
snorted a little, shook his head. "And if I've just somehow
endorsed my own grisly end, I'm going to be really pissed."
He was still sitting there, scrunched down in his warm
coat, staring at his comfortable boots, musing how strange it
was that hope could be so depressing, when Kenton and the
young men emerged from the office behind him. The boys
each gave Wil a small smile and a wave, sauntering down the
steps hand-in-hand, as he squinted up at them; Wil lifted his
eyebrows and returned a bemused one of his own. He
supposed he had seemed a bit bloodthirsty to them he was
probably their new hero and he couldn't help but wonder if
they'd be disgusted or titillated if they knew he'd spent a
good chunk of his morning up to his elbows in a man's brains.
Young men were strangely impressed by gore.
"...can likely hand him over to the contingent from Putnam
when they arrive," Brayden was telling Kenton. "I don't
expect to get much out of him, but I'll leave a report with you
to pass on to them."
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"I would like to repeat my opinion that you should wait for
your men," Kenton put in seriously. "You don't know how
many more there are out there, and you're only one man."
Wil deliberately ignored the way Kenton had deliberately
ignored him.
Brayden blew out a heavy sigh. "We can't wait for them
any longer the longer we're here, the more danger we bring
to Dudley. Perhaps, if we're gone, the danger will follow us."
"I can't say I wouldn't prefer that, considering, but..."
Kenton hesitated.
Brayden took advantage of the pause: "I acknowledge the
wisdom of your concern and I appreciate it," he assured
Kenton. And then he changed the subject. "How long will you
be, d'you think?"
Kenton thought about it. "I want to see the lads home, and
then I'll need to arrange a few things." A mirthless snort.
"I've not even told my wife yet that she's married to the new
Sheriff of Dudley." He sighed. "If she doesn't kill me, I ought
to be... say an hour, maybe two."
"We'll be finished with our business by then and ready to
go," Brayden told him.
Wil's stomach dropped a little. He really wasn't looking
forward to that 'business.'
"And you'll wait 'til I get back?" Kenton wanted to know.
"We will," Brayden replied. "Wil?"
Wil jumped a little. He'd deliberately kept himself turned
away, like they didn't know he could hear every word, and
being addressed directly like that startled him for some
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absurd reason. Slowly, he peered over his shoulder, raised his
eyebrows in question.
Brayden gave him a little nod. "Ready?"
Wil looked from Brayden to Kenton, found no help there,
and nodded. With a subdued sigh and the renewed curling of
his gut, he stood, nodded a polite goodbye to Kenton then
walked past Brayden and into the office.
* * * *
He'd sort of expected to be bustled into the man's cell with
Brayden pushing him from behind, saying, "All right, go."
Instead, Brayden silently stepped past Wil, past the cell, and
on down to the stove.
"You've no idea what I'd do for a cup of coffee," he
muttered as he poured two mugs of what Wil was pretty sure
was the spiced cider he'd wished for before. "What kind of
forsaken hole doesn't have coffee?" Brayden went on ranting
quietly, mostly to himself, then he looked up, saw Wil still
standing by the door and gestured him over.
Wil shot one quick glance at the prisoner, snatched it away
again just as quickly, and complied. He accepted a mug
gratefully, took a cautious sip of the steaming cider, and
leaked a little sigh. Heavily laced, the familiar heat blossomed
through him, took some of the jitters and calmed them
beneath a warm, cinnamon-scented haze. He leaned a little
closer to the stove. Locke had always kept it stoked high so
its heat reached every corner, even down to the cells, but Wil
had noticed that Brayden often forgot about feeding it unless
he wanted tea. It was burning high and hot now, and though
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he wasn't cold, Wil soaked in its heat like a cat on a
hearthstone.
"Now," Brayden said, leaned himself back against the
desk, "we haven't much time, and I've seen this man's sort
before. It would take days to break him, and we've got less
than two hours. Have you got something to tell me?"
Wil's eyebrows shot up. "Tell you?"
"Well, I assumed by 'help,' you meant you had some
information that would make prying something out of him a
bit easier."
"And I would assume that he knows a lot more about all
this than I do," Wil replied, frowning. He saw Brayden's teeth
clench, shook his head. "Look, I'll tell you what I know, I'm
not trying to be difficult, but... well, I don't know a whole lot.
You probably know as much as I do by now."
Brayden sighed, placed his cup on the desk. "All right," he
said slowly. "You said you could help. How? And bear in mind,
I'm not much for pulling fingernails, but if you've got a
brilliant idea, I could certainly use one."
Wil took another gulp from his mug, mostly to stall, and
shrugged. "I said I think I can help. And I'm not sure how. I
mean, I know how, but I don't know how, and it's... well, it's
rather difficult to explain." He tried to look sane and
reasonable, but thought he was probably lucky if he managed
slightly twitchy. "It doesn't involve any fingernails," he said,
subdued. "Except maybe my own."
Brayden's expression was vaguely disappointed but not at
all surprised. He puffed out something between a tired snort
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and a growl. "Don't know why I was expecting a straight
answer," he muttered into his mug.
Miffed, Wil scowled. "There is no straight answer," he
snapped. "Or if there is, I don't know what it is. Sometimes I
can... I don't know how to explain it, and I doubt I'd want to
if I could. I can't tell you I'd have to show you."
"Does it involve anything sharp or explosive?" Brayden
asked suspiciously.
Wil rolled his eyes. "It involves you opening the cell door
and letting me in, then not leaving me in there alone. I don't
know how it works, I don't know if it'll work, but you want
answers and you don't want to pull fingernails, and I want to
get out of here, so I'll try."
He paused, blinked. Shit, had he just argued his way into
this?
Brayden was staring, calculating, as usual. Wil stared
back, no expression except perhaps a small bit of challenge
and a touch of impatience. He didn't want to do this would
probably sacrifice a vital body part not to do this but he did
want to get out of this little death trap of a village, he did
want to see the very last of that man in the cell and all others
like him, and the sooner this was over, the sooner he could
walk out those shattered doors and never look back. It had
occurred to him only a little while ago to ask Brayden if they
couldn't perhaps leave by way of Garson's, so that Wil could
see Miri one last time. So he could see if maybe he could
catch a glint of blame or absolution in her open gaze so he'd
know how he was supposed to be feeling about everything
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