Page 94 of Her Wicked Knights
Whit's receptionist must have locked the door on her way out, just ten minutes prior. We watched her go, wiping her smudged lipstick, before making our move. Fortunately, it doesn't take much effort to open the door. I just place my fingers against the solid wood and a moment later, the lock scrapes in the knob, and the door pops open.
The waiting room is predictably empty, the lights off, and everything is still. But just down the hall, a sliver of light beneath the door illuminates where I know Whit is waiting for us.
I don't expect him to go easily. It's the other reason why we looped in the others for this. There's strength in numbers, and while I don't particularly like any of them, it helps to have them to counteract whatever tricks Whit may have up his sleeve. He's far more experienced than any of us with magic, and I expect he'll go to every length to try and survive like the damn cockroach he is.
But my expectations don't align with reality when I open the door to his office and find him sitting in his leather chair, his back toward us. All I can see is the top of his head as he stares out the window, the moon that seems so close.
"So, you found me." He says, as easily as if it were just a simple, boring game of hide and seek.
We split paths, Mark, Nick, and Carson taking the left of his desk to approach as we take the right.
"We found you." I agree.
From the new angle, I can see his profile, the light from outside lighting him up just enough to see that he looks oddly calm. That disappears, turning to a laugh, when he finally looks at me.
"Nice mask. Is that a commentary on how you're the ringleader now?"
"Ringleader?" I laugh, too. "I don't want to lead anything. I just thought you may prefer this to be the last thing you see before you die."
"How thoughtful." He rolls his eyes, turning to face me dead on now. "I don't suppose I can talk you out of this?"
"Not happening." Mark says, closing in from behind him. "You betrayed us, Whit. You trapped us in that town like we were nothing. And you never would have looked back."
"I did." Whit sighs. "I've done a lot of looking back these last few months, reflecting. I could feel you coming for a while, even before you broke into my house."
"Broke into your house?" Mark shakes his head. "What are you talking about?"
Whit looks from his cousin, standing there in his WHAT MASK, and then to me. "Ah. I see. A camp divided, huh?"
Nobody speaks. Whit just shakes his head, smirking as he reaches for the bottle of whiskey on his desk and tips it against his lips. I let him, because the least I can do for him tonight is let him go feeling just a little drunk. He looks like he's had a hard day. Fortunately for him, it's about over.
"All this for her." Whit says finally, setting the bottle back down on the desk and focusing his attention on me again. "I'd ask if she's worth it, but I know she is."
"You fell for that little harlot?" Carson laughs. "I thought you were just using her for her magic."
"I did." He nods. "But it turned into something more, somewhere along the way."
"Spare us the part about your epic love story that's about to be cut short. I don't care."
"Not a love story." Whit laughs, looking longingly at the bottle before deciding to pick it up and help himself to another healthy sip. "A tragedy."
That gets a laugh from Tripp. It's a real one, deep and uncontrolled as he clearly found something funny about that.
"A tragedy?" He manages, between fits of laughter. "I'm sorry."
It's quiet for a minute while Tripp tries to compose himself.
"What do you know about tragedy?" Rev asks finally. "Tell the class, Whit, what you know about loss and love."
"I know nothing about love." Whit laughs too now, but it's a sad sound, hollow as him. "That's what's tragic. No one will mourn me when you do this. Not even her."
"Especially not her." I assure him. "I've seen how you treat her. We've all seen it."
It's technically not true, but he doesn't have to know that Mark and his cronies aren't as in the know as we're letting on.
"Obsession isn't love." Rev says coolly.
"And your abuse isn'ttherapy." Tripp snaps, his voice harder as he closes the distance to where Whit is standing, his hands half in his pockets as he nods his agreement. We all move closer now, ringing him in. I don't trust him not to try and pull something.
