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Mr. Wolff growled deeper as two of the Darks stepped forward, pulling their hoods from their faces. The first was the one Mr. Wolff was growling at; a man, a slash running from his forehead, over his eye, and down to his chin. One eye was green, while the other was a milky gray. His hair was short, gray, and spiky. The second was a woman, her eyes blue and her hair a speckled brown. Her appearance was striking, because she looked so familiar, and Kelsie could have sworn that she had seen this woman before. Her thoughts were cut short as they began to speak. “Well, well, well,” said the woman. “If it isn’t dear Benji.” Mr. Wolff raised his wolf head, his eyebrows creased. “Why do you attack us, Naomi?” “Simple,” she drawled. “We want the children.” Roger pushed forward, yelling. “Then you’re not going to lay a hand on us, you scum!” Naomi yawned. “Cease your lunatic rants, child, and give yourself up.” “Mr. Wolff will never let you have us!” Now the man with the slash on his face spoke, chuckling lowly, his arms crossed. “You have a biased idea about your guardian, child.” “He is not an almighty, immortal, herald of hope! He has his limits!” said Naomi. “He won’t always be there to save you!” “It is not our abilities, but our choices that reflect who we truly are.” said Mr. Wolff, glaring up. “It is a pity that some of leather sheath push dagger us have so many abilities but lack the intelligence to make good choices. Surely you can relate to that, Naomi.” “You would be the one to talk, brother!” The children glanced wildly at Mr. Wolff, who didn’t do so much as flinch as he glared back at Naomi. “Do you still deny that you have any relation to me?! Or has that cant been worn out, you drunk?!” Mr. Wolff’s muscles tensed, anger rising within him. “Do you still deny that you drank your way out of army, deserting the war, being dishonorably honorably discharged?!” “You shut up, you hear?!” yelled Roger, veins bulging in his neck. “SILENCE!” barked Mr. Wolff, growling deeply. He turned back towards the Darks, looking around at all of them. “If you want them, you’ll have to kill all of us!” There was a silence in the air, a gritty, heavy silence that weighed down their hearts. After a moment or two, Knight began laughing again—or was he coughing? Kelsie could not tell. “Ready yourself, old man. We will not hold back!” It all happened so quickly, the night sky lighting up with flashes of blue, green, and purple light. Mr. Wolff was back on his feet, no longer portraying himself as a powerful wolf. No…this was a battle of magic, not brawn. Black was mixing with light colors, red and blue jets of light colliding to make purple, fists and teeth flying and gnashing. And the only thing the children could do…was to sit, huddled together, and watch Ms. Hallman, Mr. Wolff, and Seth fight, outnumbered. “We have to do something!” cried Annalise over the racket, ducking and avoiding a splash of violet light. Kelsie heard her voice, saw the hopeless and frightened looks in George, Kiara’s and Roger’s eyes; she knew that what Annalise said was true. Slowly, she reached into the brown leather, beautifully woven sheath Mr. Wolff had given her before they left the library, examining it. Written in silver, scrolled letters were the wise words Mr. Wolff: It is not our abilities, but our choices that reflect who we truly are. The handle of the machete was sticking out, a neatly wrapped beige over a polished, dark brown leather. At the end, there was a carving of a hawk’s head, and running up the handle to the blade were embroidered vines and leaves, winding around and around. Kelsie was amazed—she hadn’t thought to examine it closely. Slowly, she pulled the blade from the sheath, holding it up as the children looked on, awestruck. It was glowing faintly, a greenish tinge to it. The blade was large and notched, the end pointy, elongated, and evidently very sharp. When she moved it to the side, the moonlight caught it, and a phrase was made visible shining in her eyes: ‘peut le guide vent tempête vous’. “May the gale wind guide you,” whispered Kelsie. The Moon was swallowed once again by the gray, slightly translucent clouds, causing the words to fade away.
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