The Triad of Finity by Kevin Emerson Page B

Dean.
    Later that night, they discussed it while riding atop a bus to Dean’s house. “So,” said Dean, “Lythia has organized some kind of secret club?”
    “A Legion,” said Oliver somewhat sarcastically. “Theo and Maggots must be in it, too.”
    “And it has something to do with the cohesions. And you. Like with your destiny.”
    Oliver shrugged. “Knowing Lythia, it’s some kind of scheme. Maybe she and Theo are trying to get their demons sooner. I could totally see them manipulating the younger kids somehow, like for some spell or something. She’d do anything to get another demon.”
    “If she does, she’ll be able to control me again,” said Dean.
    “Yeah, and then, I don’t know, maybe she wants to try to take over my destiny again, or something.”
    “But there’s no way to do that.”
    “I know,” said Oliver. He felt like there must be more to it than that, but he had no idea what. “I guess we could spy on their meeting.”
    “Ha.” Dean clicked his tongue. “Sounds like old times. Emalie would approve.”
    “Yeah,” said Oliver with a sigh. It wasn’t much, but at least it was something. “Let’s do it.”

Chapter 6
    Things to Do on the Eve of the End
    Oliver and Dean transferred buses to get to Dean’s house. It was a cool, clear night, the wind laced with a salty smell of the ocean.
    “The Legion meets tomorrow night. So, what should we do tonight?” Dean asked glumly.
    “I don’t know,” Oliver replied. The brief feeling of optimism about spying on the Legion had worn off, and Oliver was back to thinking about cohesion, about the end, about the two years, over seven hundred and fifty days, all spent with nothing from Emalie. “Who cares?” he spat. “Everything sucks.”
    “We could hit the movies.”
    Oliver huffed. “What’s the point? Of anything? If we sit around watching a movie, we’re not doing anything to stop the prophecy, but there’s nothing to do to stop the prophecy, so it’s like, whatever.” He threw up his hands. “Nothing matters.” It was a feeling he couldn’t help sinking into lately.
    “Yeah,” Dean sighed in agreement. “Well, I still have that bag. You know, in the freezer …”
    Oliver shrugged. They’d had a funny idea recently, something dumb and gross and maybe even a little mean, but …
    “Sure,” said Oliver. “Why not?” At least Bane would have approved.
    “I gotta grab some dinner first though,” said Dean, “I’m starving.” As he said it, his voice seemed to lower a notch, as if the real creature inside him was surfacing.
    They leapt off and walked through the sleepy three A.M. streets until they reached the one house with light glowing in its windows, albeit around the edges of dark velvet curtains.
    Inside, Dean’s mom Tammy was lying on the couch, asleep in the blue light of the television. She sat up with a start, “Oh, hey guys.” She got up quickly, tightening her robe and shuffling to the kitchen. “Just dozed off for a sec.”
    “No worries, Mom,” said Dean. “We can get dinner. It’s okay.”
    “Nah, it’s fine,” said Tammy, yawning as she turned on the kitchen light and pulled a foil-covered dish from one of two refrigerators, this one for the undead food. She slid the tray onto the counter, then got out a glass pitcher of blood. “We still have a bunch of stuff from the butcher co-op,” she said, uncovering the dish of raw pig entrails soaked in lime juice, cayenne and cilantro. She glanced at Dean. “Do you think this will be … enough?” She asked uncertainly.
    “It’s fine, Mom, don’t worry,” Dean replied sulkily. “Everybody’s brains are safe.”
    “That’s not how I meant it, honey, I just—”
    Dean waved his hand. “Nah, I know. It’s cool.” He didn’t sound like it was.
    “You know,” said Tammy, sounding like she was forcing herself back into her old peppy tone, “I think another guy who comes to the community cuttings at the butcher shop may have an undead