CAIN

THREE

"Well, he's certainly dead."

I prodded the body with a metal tool I had found lying on the side, watching the deathly pale and newly deceased werewolf lie completely still, "In fact, he almost looks paralysed."

The operators of the morgue were not so impressed, the two werewolves giving each other looks I could not discern but only could assume they were communicating their disdain through a mind link.

A woman in a white coat - Emily - stepped forward to finally speak, "And? Is there any obvious use of magic left on the body?"

I shook my head, "I feel nothing. It wasn't magic that killed him."

"No - it was poison. We've sent a sample to multiple labs in the Capital but all have been unable to identify it up until this point," the other werewolf explained, handing me a vial of a murky, purple liquid.

Much to their horror, I unsealed the lid, inhaling the rather pungent odour and then bringing it up towards the light of a window so that I could see it more clearly.

"No need," I determined, "It's a strain of wolfsbane. I'm surprised you weren't able to tell from the short time it took to kill him, but I suppose the smell might have thrown your senses off." My hands moved to reinforce my point, wafting the remnants of the poison's reek away from me.

"How can you be sure?"

"Once upon a time, I had a degree in alchemy," I mused to myself, recalling my university days that had only occurred several centuries ago.

This answer clearly did not satisfy them, but I was not ready to disclose that this education had led to my involvement in the development of wolfsbane during the strifes between witch and werewolf - something they were most likely not even alive for.

I returned the vial and my metal prodder, "My work here is done. You'll be able to trace the strain of wolfsbane to only a handful of sellers."

"And what of the mind possession?" Emily came forward, reaching rather suddenly at my arm, "His Majesty was sure that it was possession."

I shook my head again, "There's no evidence for it, as far as I can tell. It would be impossible to preordain an attack like this using only magic."

Her eyebrows furrowed as a look of dismay took over her face. "But you could, couldn't you?" she quietly exclaimed, "You could force someone to do something like this using magic?"

I pulled away, staring blankly at the grave faces before me. My initial offence to her question was soon crushed by the reality of the situation: I could force someone to do this. "Yes," I told her, "But if your king believes this man was not in control of his actions during the assassination attempt, it could not have been caused by any witch or sorcerer that I know of. Unless..."

"Unless what?" the male werewolf asked, "What have we missed?"

"Has the body been examined for runes?" I thought out loud, rather relunctantly reaching forward to examine the body's forearms and wrists

"Runes?"

"Strange markings. Patterns or symbols imbedded in the flesh with a form of branding."

Emily paused, "Not that we know of, but then again, we weren't looking for any."

"Us witches don't use runes so it's not really my forte, but I do know they can go undetected despite, I suppose, having 'magical properties'," I used air-quotes, realising that the complexities of the witching world would be lost on two werewolves if they were unfamiliar with runes.

"And they could control someone?" she questioned.

I nodded, "Runes have commands. You draw one rune on a door, it opens. You draw another rune on a door, it closes. You draw a rune on a person, and they...well... they execute that command."

"A rune with the order to kill," Emily muttered to herself, mulling the information over in her mind.

"On his neck!" the male werewolf called us over to the table, pointing to a small but intricate pattern highlighted in black ink, "I though it was a tattoo but now..."

I reached to touch it, my eyes turning yellow as the rune itself turned yellow too, "Oh it's a rune alright."

"So we know who the killer is?" Emily asked, "You can tell?"

"Runes are untraceable." Only it wasn't me who spoke.

We turned to see the lycan king leaning on the doorframe, great arms crossed against his great chest. I cursed Hecate at the thought of how long he had been standing there.

"Your Majesty!" the two werewolves exclaimed, heads bowed as they looked at each other with surprise.

I remained still, refusing to reveal any immediate expression at his arrival. My eyes found his, however, but I was met with an unreadable look upon his face. Was he... amused? I wasn't sure.

"Hard to trace," I corrected, "Not quite untraceable."

The male werewolf glared at me for potentially disrespecting his alpha, but His Fuzziness only tilted his head slightly in a nod. "Is tracing runes something that falls under your skill bracket?" he asked, walking towards the body.

"You'll have to find a mage, but even then the tracing may take months," I explained, "And neither would this rune business be part of our deal."

"My mind seems to be a little fuzzy," he grinned, "You will have to remind me of the terms and conditions of our little agreement."

My eyes narrowed as I kissed my teeth, "Never thought the Great Lycan would be a sly dog."

The choice of words used, I thought as His Majesty made his way across the room to me, were perhaps rather rash but my yellow eyes and sweet smile forced the two other werewolves to take a step back from the growls they had given me.

His teeth were close enough to nick at my ear as he leaned in and whispered, "I thought I told you to call me Cain." 

I could say nothing. My legs felt anchored to the ground beneath me and yet even then, the earth felt as it would crumble without a moment's hesitation if the man before me were to pull away. 

I smiled, lips pulled tightly together as I watched him lean back to look down on me, "And I thought I told you I preferred His Fuzziness."

He was looking at me with such intensity that I couldn't help but avoid his gaze. I thought of Alice, forcing myself to focus on her lovely image in my mind and not on whether this beast of a man frightened me or turned me on - or perhaps both.

"Come, Morgana," Cain gestured to the door, "I'm sure we have much to discuss."