And There Were Wolves

(d) seven

Let me start by asking: any Dmitry's fan?

I shoved that thought away. It was lucidly impossible. My dad had told me what had happened that night. There had been at least a dozen of the Erebus's members who witnessed my mother's body being torn apart. Then there were those ladies who'd cleaned her body for burial, too. Hell, my dad was going to take me to her grave this weekend. The book must have been wrong, or there was another witch named Gaia Delvaux that wasn't my mother. 

Once I calmed myself down, I continued searching for any information about 'Mad Wolf' that I eventually stumbled upon one page that was filled with the Greek alphabet, albeit there was only one paragraph in it. There wasn't a single Latin word on this page. 

Mad Wolf is a rare, mythical disease that will drive the wolf crazy to the point where he/she will eat their mate and then die upon the realization of what they'd done. This disease was caused by the Sword of Damocles.

I picked up my phone again and searched for any information about the aforementioned sword online. Once I found a reliable source, I began to read. 

Legend has it that the famed Sword of Damocles dates back to an ancient moral parable popularized by Roman philosopher Cicero in 45 B.C. Dionysus II, a tyrannical king who once ruled over the Sicilian city of Syracuse during the fourth and fifth centuries B.C. was supremely unhappy. The king's dissatisfaction came to a head one day after a court flattered named Damocles showered him with compliments and remarked how blissful his life must be.

"Since this life delights you," an annoyed Dionysus replied, "do you wish to taste it yourself and make a trial of my good fortune?"

When Damocles agreed, Dionysus seated him on a golden couch and ordered a host of servants to wait on him. He was treated to succulent cuts of meat and lavished with scented perfumes and ointments. Damocles couldn't believe his luck, but just as he was starting to enjoy the life of a king, he noticed that Dionysus had also hung a razor-sharp sword from the ceiling. It was positioned over Damocles' head, suspended only by a single strand of horsehair. From then on, the courtier's fear for his life made it impossible for him to savor the opulence of the feast or enjoy the servants.

The phrase "Sword of Damocles" is now commonly used as a catchall term to describe a looming danger. Just like the saying "hanging by a thread" has become shorthand for a fraught or precarious situation. 

There was nothing about the sword possibly inflicting disease online, and after two hours of searching various resources, I decided to give it a rest. After securing the book, I hid it under my bed and went downstairs. I headed to the kitchen and found Dmitry in the kitchen, seemingly flipping what looked like pancakes on the pan, although knowing that this was Dmitry after all, I'd have to guess that this was probably one of the Russian delicacies. 

He looked up when he heard me pulling out the barstool and taking a seat. "Do you want some?" he offered. 

"I wouldn't say no to food," I replied with a small smile. I wished I could give him a more enthusiastic response, but my mood was still shitty since I couldn't find anything remotely useful to help Ryker. 

"Food always makes one feel good," said Dmitry as he placed a plate with two slices of pancakes and some berries and whipped cream on top. 

He grabbed a fork from the drawer next to his hip and handed it to me. I accepted it and muttered my thanks. "Does this mean that you're in a bad mood now?" I curiously asked. 

His eyebrow twitched, which was probably the only emotion and reaction I'd ever get from Dmitry, who was known to be the most emotionless person on all England. "I am always in a bad mood." He flipped the pancake onto another plate and then placed the pan back on the electric stove before pressing the off button. "I am not sure I am fit for the alpha job," he added out of the blue.