Higher Power [Rhys]

[Marisol Leandra Lobera Navarre]

October 2022

Veracruz, Mexico

It was sweltering hot, and Sol was very easy to spot at how completely different she looked compared to the others enjoying their day at the beach. The promenade at Veracruz’s historical harbor was one of the few completely magical areas in the city, and the magical community took full advantage of that fact. It was early morning, but kids were already racing their boats at the beach. Little ships that operated on their own, with sails that changed color as they got wet and little mastheads that occasionally breathed fire or roared. Around her, there were booths scattered along the boardwalk with vendors selling food, jewelry, magical souvenirs, and an occasional boom as one of the mini cannons went off by itself. The sounds and sights and smells all mixed together in what could be an overwhelming experience if you weren't used to it. Meanwhile, Sol sat hunched on a bench facing the water, one arm wrapped tight around herself to keep her sweater closed as she tried to make herself seem as small as possible.

And she was definitely not dressed for the occasion. Her flowy skirt seemed fine, and so did her sandals and the flowery clips she’d used to tie back her hair. But she was wearing a heavy jacket that didn’t suit the oppressive heat, even this early in the morning. Still, she kept it pulled tight around her like it was a shield, because she couldn’t bear for anyone to even glance at the scars she had hidden underneath it. Her leg bounced impatiently, although she didn’t scan the crowd for the person she was waiting for. Because really. She didn’t know exactly who this boludo was, but he’d already rubbed her the wrong way in just about every way imaginable (even though she'd never seen him or spoke to him and didn't really know anything about him). Why? Because apparently her mother already trusted him more than she’d ever trusted Sol with any of her secrets, and even worse – the only thing they had in common was a sperm donor who was ridiculously talented at ruining his children’s lives.

So she was here because she had to be here, and that was that. Her mama had promised that Rhys Greyback would have interesting things to say, but how could he if he carried around that surname like a point of pride? He probably walked around like a Greyback, too. Not that Sol had much of a mental image of what that might look like, but she was completely sure all the same that he would. After a moment she turned the page of the book she was reading, although she couldn’t quite remember what had been on the previous page. Great. Her lapsed attention span was another thing she could blame on Rhys Greyback, because it was his fault she’d been pushed to wait for him on the boardwalk so they could talk. But talk about what? Her mother had had 15 years to talk to Sol, and she’d never taken the opportunity. Even now, she’d shoved the responsibility of doing it on somebody else. Sol gave up on pretending to read the new page and turned back to the previous one to see what she’d missed. She stared at the words intently like they might actually speak to her -- or try to bite.

rhys alexander greyback

[rhys alexander greyback]

the clearer and the clearer

the stranger in the mirror

October 12, 2022
Marisol Leandra Lobera Navarre

Timing had always appeared as an issue in Rhys’s life. The last two years had proven challenging—like some emotional obstacle course, and he wondered if it had ended yet or if he would have to use every ounce of energy to pull through to the end. A light breeze pulled the heat off his fair skin as Rhys stood near the harbor, and his eyes scoped the crowd. At least he didn’t stick out so much here, not really. Aside from one of the purely magical areas of Mexico, it was also a hot spot for traveling Cursebreakers from all around. Rhys had always loved working in Latin America, but this latest visit was a bleak reminder that he’d never brought Juniper here as promised.

During all the turmoil of the previous year and a half, Rhys hadn’t gotten around to discussing the latest news about his family with Juniper. Which was a shame, considering that despite all the resentment he harbored for her leaving, Rhys knew she would have been genuinely happy for him. A woman had approached Rhys the previous year rather than dropping her files and running away as pale as he was. It was a curious encounter, and he immediately saw the fear in her eyes. He heard it in her voice, which brought a chill up his spine because Rhys recognized that fear. He felt it himself through his nightmares.

The woman, Sofia, had a story to share. They spoke privately, and she explained her run-ins with Fenrir Greyback. The first resulted in a daughter and the second produced a werewolf. Anger had coursed through Rhys, not at the woman but at this monster, his father. Rhys shared a bit of his own experience—his mother’s death and Fenrir turning him so young. They agreed to remain in touch, only for Rhys to end up suspended months later and the start of a downward spiral personally. But here he was, back to work and finally able to fulfill a promise to Sofia and a personal mission to follow up on leads regarding potential family members. Because the more he learned, the more Rhys doubted Fenrir only left himself and Maxima behind.

It wasn’t difficult to spot her. Sofia had shown him a photograph of the teenage girl. One might say there were a few shared features, but Rhys figured the girl was fortunate to take after her mother in this case. Still, on a day like this one didn’t often see individuals wearing heavy jackets in such weather. Sofia had warned of her daughter’s teenage attitude, not that it would have changed Rhys’s approach to the matter. There was never a subtle or gentle way to broach topics involving Fenrir Greyback. Plus, he wasn’t in the mood. Archer and Saffron remained at their quarters, probably asleep or sleeping off their hangovers. Finishing up a few days early allowed them to enjoy the country before their next job and return to London. Naturally, Rhys told them of his additional plans, and as always, they remained supportive.

Rhys ran a hand through his short hair, though the curls fought to remain present at the longer ends. And he rolled up his shirt sleeves, checking to see if he’d gotten all the buttons in front this time. Casually, he approached the table in view of this new family member—another half-sister. And without asking, Rhys pulled the chair from the table, letting the legs scrape the floor before sitting down. He waited a short moment before clearing his throat to speak. ”Marisol? My name is Rhys Greyback.” Rhys began, that infamous last name rolling off his tongue in its usual Welsh lilt. Again, he noticed the heavy jacket. ”Cold?” His eyebrow raised in curiosity. In Rhys’s younger years, he remembered how the other kids in the group home would tease him about his scars or the werewolf bite he could never hide fully.

template by vee

[Marisol Leandra Lobera Navarre]

Sol folded back the paperback book so she could hold it one-handed while she used the other to swat at the mosquitos and flies that hovered in the air. That was one of the downsides of sitting at the harbor – the bugs were bad, the magical bugs were worse, and it only took a few seconds of inactivity to attract them. She would’ve thought that werewolf blood tasted bitter to them, but they didn’t seem deterred. It only really highlighted how little she really knew about being a werewolf. There were werewolves in some of the American TV shows she’d watched growing up, and her professors would occasionally mention it in a throwaway comment (usually when it came to potions to neutralize the threat during the full moon or protective charms to shield against bloodthirsty werewolves at night). But besides that, the only experience she had was her own – once a month with her brutal transformation, made only slightly better by the Wolfsbane Potion. The ignorance seemed to make everything ten times worse, but Sol tended to shrink away from the thought of doing something to change that. It just seemed easier to hate everything and everyone and herself most of all. That required less introspection.

So she swatted away the mosquitos and tried to pay attention to the adventures of Felício, the duelist who’d finally defeated the last world champion after supposedly practicing against wild Curupiras in the Brazilian jungles. Maybe she was too absorbed in her book, or maybe she’d hoped that the semi-permanent scowl on her face would be the best deterrent against people. Either way, she failed to notice someone approaching until they pulled out the chair next to hers and sat down. “Ocupado,” she murmured distractedly, finally glancing up from the book when the person didn’t move after a few seconds. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she looked over the stranger, immediately on her guard again. He looked exactly like she thought the British must look – tall and pale, although he wasn’t carrying a cup of tea or going on about the weather. She corrected that last assumption though when he glanced at her sweater and mentioned something about the temperature.

She straightened her back indignantly, although she kept one hand on her sweater to make sure it stayed closed. “Sol,” she corrected sulkily, “Nobody calls me Marisol.” That wasn’t exactly true, since lots of adults did use her proper name and her mother had probably used it when describing her to Rhys (that thought alone made her bristle with annoyance). But she was in the mood to be contradictory, and that meant she’d disagree with Rhys even if the next sentence out of his mouth was to point out that the day was nice or that Brazil had a good chance of winning the Quidditch World Cup. Sol didn’t answer his question, but instead glanced over his button-down shirt and rolled her eyes. “Is that how you dress when you break into tombs?” Her tone was judgmental, but she wasn’t satisfied with her snarky comment. Because maybe she’d revealed a little too soon that she’d done her homework on Rhys Greyback too, and she’d been hoping to play dumb about him to drive him away faster. Oh well. Her winsome personality could still do that.

rhys alexander greyback

[rhys alexander greyback]

the clearer and the clearer

the stranger in the mirror

October 12, 2022
Marisol Leandra Lobera Navarre

The girl didn’t immediately pay attention to Rhys, even as he sat down. The response was almost robotic as if she was used to people sitting randomly in chairs at her table. It made sense for a touristy area, he supposed. But Rhys had stopped minding such things the further his career went on. Part of Cursebreaker training was not only learning spells and such to survive and remain safe but also observing the cultural differences wherever he traveled. The change in perspective was often necessary to complete their task because tunnel vision would never provide a victory.

Sol. The irony wasn’t lost on Rhys. While fluency in Spanish was a far-off pipedream, he had picked up a few words along the way. Astronomy could be considered a common theme among ancient cultures, regardless of where they were in the world. Very quickly, she bared her teeth. Teenagers. Max wasn’t like this, but then again, Max had never been face-to-face with their father. Rhys’s expression didn’t change. So she knew he was a Cursebreaker and seemed so willing to show her hand while hiding behind that attitude. Immediately, he wondered what in the world she had to be so angry about. There was certainly more under the surface than the natural indignation of being bitten by Fenrir Greyback.

”What else did your mother tell you about me?” Rhys asked casually. Much like the know-it-all trainees he sometimes worked with under the supervision of a senior Cursebreaker, Rhys detested interruptions because they felt he was repeating himself. While the girl in front of him did not share their father’s eyes, she did not have the same expression as her mother. Rhys still recalled the fear, among other things, in Sofia’s eyes. Sol had none of that. In that last conversation with the older woman, Rhys had spared her the details of when and how he was bitten or what had happened with his mother. Sofia didn’t know much except Rhys was Fenrir’s son, a werewolf by him and a Cursebreaker. As well as the existence of Max, another half-sister.

Letting his gaze move to where kids were racing the tide up the beach, Rhys spoke again. ”You’re lucky, you know.” Naturally, Sol would probably disagree with him. ”Your mum cares about you.” Keeping his voice calm, he spoke as evenly as he could. Pausing again, he wondered if jumping straight into brutal details was wise. He certainly hadn’t with Max, but she’d been just eleven when they’d met, much too young for such things. Not that anyone had ever given Rhys the same courtesy.

template by vee

[Marisol Leandra Lobera Navarre]

She was a little disappointed when he didn’t immediately break down into tears and run off. Not that she’d expected it, but it would’ve been nice to be left in peace to read her book and hate everything and everyone. In fact, Rhys Greyback proved to be even more disappointing than she’d hoped because he’d just done the same thing Sol did. Ignore the question and ask a different one instead. It gave her absolutely nothing to work with, since stupid or vague answers would’ve at least given her something new to mock. Instead, he seemed to casually pick up that she’d learned a few things about his background and asked what else her mother had shared. It was almost infuriating how calm he was, but she supposed that he was an adult (technically speaking) and therefore could control himself. But Sol would be sixteen in a few months (which practically made her an adult as well), and she’d learned from the mistake she’d just made. No more free information. So she casually turned back to her book and flipped a page at random as if she hadn’t been interrupted by a Welsh cursebreaker who also happened to be her half-brother.

“Nothing. I guess she didn’t think it was important.” Lies, lies, lies. Sol would rather die than admit that her mother had pointed out Wales on a map, and told her that Rhys had also been bitten by Fenrir Greyback, and even mentioned that he specialized in Egypt when he was out cursebreaking for Gringotts. As far as she was concerned, meeting Rhys didn’t have to change anything. She had plenty of dysfunctional family in Mexico already, and Sol was happy to be willfully ignorant about her father’s side of the family. Or what it meant to be a werewolf. Or how her half-sibling in the same situation had learned to cope and take it all in stride. Because Sol could reluctantly admit that Rhys at least looked like he had it all together. He seemed put-together (even with his stupid dressy shirt), and confident in himself. That was super annoying. She’d have preferred him to be the biggest loser ever, because it would’ve made her feel better about her decision not to get to know him.

Her annoyance flared into anger as he casually mentioned how lucky she was, like he had any clue. She slammed her book shut (which wasn’t nearly as satisfying with a paperback as it would’ve been with a hardcover) and turned to glare at him. She stared right into the same eyes that her mother supposedly had nightmares about. The eyes of a killer. “What do you know?! You’ve spent five minutes talking to her and think you know everything? Well…you don’t! You have no idea!” Sol fumed, her angry lilting voice accompanied by her flurried and dramatic hand movements. She’d seen her grandma and aunts do the same thing, using the hands as part of the message. Rhys had no idea what her life was like, or how easy it’d been for her mother to just push her away and leave raising her to the rest of the family. How she’d always been more like a distant big sister than her mom.

Sol’s accent flared up a bit as she continued her outburst. “Who even are you? You think you can just walk into my life and judge me? What makes you such an expert?” It was probably a sign of how so many people chose the boardwalk to have big arguments (family feuds, breakups, some light gang activity) that people barely even glanced their way. Just kept walking along like Sol wasn’t on some downward spiral and unloading all her life’s frustrations on this aggravatingly calm British guy. Because fine, maybe blood dictated that they were vaguely related through the most unfortunate of circumstances. But he had no clue what she was thinking, or dealing with, or would be dealing with for the rest of her life. Of that, Sol was utterly convinced.

rhys alexander greyback

[rhys alexander greyback]

the clearer and the clearer

the stranger in the mirror

October 12, 2022
Marisol Leandra Lobera Navarre

Sol appeared determined to avoid Rhys and instead focus on her book. While mildly irritated by her attitude, he supposed he couldn’t blame her. Fortunately, he worked with Cursebreaker trainees of all attitudes for a couple of years, but it did not help his patience. Any in the last few months would have noticed how Rhys’s patience had worn down to something transparently thin. The defiance was relatable. Rhys hadn’t even thought about how he might respond if the roles were reversed. What if someone approached Rhys during his younger years and shared that they were also a child of Fenrir Greyback and that he wasn’t alone? It wasn’t a question he could answer.

But his expression remained stoic despite how internally he tensed at her directed anger. Rhys’s instinct to flip the table was strong, but this wasn’t some pub fight with another Cursebreaker. This was a teenage girl who was his half-sister. While he remained still, his eyes flared with his short temper. Who was he? Who was she to question him like this? Nobody forced him to be here. Taking a breath, Rhys told himself that scaring her wouldn’t prove anything. That last suspension still felt fresh in his mind.

”You’re right. I have no idea.” Rhys began, clenching his jaw and looking away momentarily. ”I never had anyone watching out for me growing up.” He looked back and leaned in slightly to lower his voice. “No, instead I live with the memory of watching Fenrir kill my mum.” Merlin, Sol had no bloody idea how lucky she was. Max had never argued that point. She had the full nuclear family for support in contrast to Rhys. Leaning back, he paused a moment as he’d let too much of his anger slip out than intended. ”I don’t know you. You don’t know me. But whether you like it or not, we’re family. Fenrir would love nothing more than for us to be alone and suffering.” That was the sort of monster their father was. Rhys wondered if he only went after his children, who were alone. Max had not been bitten, but she had her family and Rhys to help prevent that.

”I’ve never had a family, and I’m used to that. I’m not here to beg you or convince you for anything. I’m only here to ask whether you intended to remain Fenrir’s victim for the rest of your life. Like your mother.” There was a reason Rhys used the Greyback name, and Max used it as well. And a reason he was here. If he had seen anything from his encounters with Sol’s mother, he had seen her absolute fear—the weight on her shoulders and the ghostly look in her eyes. Rhys wasn’t without fear himself, as his nightmares reminded him, but he had always chosen to fight. Surely, Sol could see it now. Fenrir returned, and at least to Rhys, its effect on her mother felt obvious.

template by vee

[Marisol Leandra Lobera Navarre]

People had been dancing around the point for Sol’s whole life. Her mother was the guiltiest when it came to that, since she didn’t bother to hide the fact that she had secrets, and they’d die with her. Her life was one big question mark and it’d sometimes brought Sol to the point of frustrated tears to realize that nothing she could do (no tantrum, no rebellion, no last-second brilliant plan) would ever change that. But the rest of her family wasn’t much better. Whatever they’d suspected or known about Fenrir and the circumstances that had driven her mother back to Mexico…they’d kept it to themselves. Nobody had ever talked to Sol plainly, laying their cards out on the table or explaining why things were the way they were. And really, the problem had only gotten worse after she’d been bitten. At that point, it became clear how people in her life really saw her. Fragile, like being realistic or truthful would be that last thing to push her over the edge. So she’d continued to be the only one to speak the maddening truth and never get anything back.

At least…until now. Until Rhys Greyback. Sol didn’t get embarrassed that often, but she’d become an expert at hiding her thoughts from her nosy aunts. So the expression on her face didn’t change as Rhys leaned towards her and spoke in a scarily quiet voice, but her hands twitched in her lap and she clutched her book tightly (resisting the urge to hide behind it). She couldn’t break eye contact with Rhys, even though she badly wanted to after he broke several unspoken taboos that’d reigned supreme in her family. After all, he was painfully straightforward. And he mentioned a bad thing that’d happened, instead of burying it deep in unspoken family histories. And he’d said Fenrir’s name.

“You talk like you know him,” she said equally quietly, Rhys’s abrupt lecture having spooked some of the anger out from her over the last minute. It left her staring at Rhys in shock. She didn’t know how to navigate an honest and open conversation. Her grandparents only hinted at troublesome things that they didn’t like to think about, and her mother avoided the subject entirely. But it shook Sol to hear Rhys talk about Fenrir like he actually existed, not just as some imaginary monster from a fairy tale. Because her father had always seemed like that to Sol – some vague concept that didn’t seem real, that couldn’t possibly exist in real life. At least until he’d proven her wrong in January, and then disappeared again like smoke in the wind. But Rhys casually mentioning his name multiple times and talking as if he understood what might be going through his head…it was jarring.

Her cheeks flushed as Rhys mentioned her mother again, although in a different context this time. She couldn’t disagree. Sofia had been a victim for all of Sol’s life, for as long as she could remember. But somehow, as Sol had begun to build a mental picture of her half-brother, she’d never stopped to wonder about his mother. “I’m not a victim!” she said heatedly, trying to seize back some of the control she’d been tightly grasping at since January. Anything she could to convince herself that she was in control and not spiraling out of fear or shame or any of the other emotions that had been driving her mother for the last sixteen years.

She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘sorry’ or ‘I understand’ or any of the other platitudes that people had been echoing back to her lately. They sounded empty and Rhys wouldn’t want to hear it anyway. What’s the point of apologizing for something that had apparently happened years ago, anyway? Instead she pulled her sweater closer around her and avoided eye contact with Rhys, staring at the waves crashing against the shoreline. “So what, we just pretend everything’s okay?” she mumbled, wondering if that’s what he was here to sell her on. He’d said he hadn’t come to convince her of anything, but that had never been her experience before. “That we all like each other, and the scars don’t hurt, and we can just be one big happy family? While the only thing that connects us is the one thing that’s missing from the picture?”

rhys alexander greyback

[rhys alexander greyback]

the clearer and the clearer

the stranger in the mirror

October 12, 2022
Marisol Leandra Lobera Navarre

Rhys rarely found anyone who could properly respond when he brought up what Fenrir had done to his mother. It was not the icebreaker he liked to lead with, but this girl needed to come back down to Earth as far as Rhys was concerned. Her mother had not elaborated on their life in Mexico, and Sol had not been a werewolf all that long. Deep down, Rhys wondered what that was like. It always brought a bit of envy to his already whirling emotions. Still, Sol’s response took him aback.

What did that mean? If he closed his eyes, Rhys could vividly see his father’s face as he remembered it as a child. Those icy and bloodlust-filled eyes and satisfied grin. ”I don’t…” He mumbled, pausing to think a moment. ”What good reason is there for him to come back just to turn us? Or try to?” It felt futile to sit and wonder why Fenrir Greyback did anything. Not that Rhys had really tried to apply logic before. The anger attached to that name and memory never let him calmly ponder such things. ”He likes to hurt people.” And what good was killing them when they could suffer a brutal existence instead?

Unamused, Rhys raised an eyebrow. Sol’s defensiveness arose again. Her words were heated and sudden. It told Rhys the will to live still existed in his newly discovered half-sister. It was good to know that Fenrir had not snuffed out that fire when he came back for another one of his children. ”I’ll believe it when I see it.” A few strong words, however, proved little in his mind. ”No.” Pretending didn’t fix anything as much as pretending one wasn’t a werewolf was rightfully stupid. For Rhys, not many had danced around the issue of his birth and proximity to tragedy. He always felt lingering resentment when visiting his mother’s grave. The residents had long memories, not to mention the comments and taunts at the orphanage or school or sometimes when he traveled for his work. Pretending would not help Rhys one bit. Why would it help any of them?

Rhys knew what he wanted to say, but all that came to mind were cliché statements and the sort of things he would roll his eyes at. ”You’re a bit older than Maxima and Adrian.” He found himself saying. Time had flown by in that sense. ”I only just met them three years ago.” The thought still left him a little more emotional than he cared to admit. Letting out a soft sigh, Rhys clenched his jaw again. ”I said I was used to being alone. Fighting the world by myself, but I never liked it.” Not even his closest friends could quite fill that void as much as Rhys loved them. ”And Fenrir never handles things alone, why should we?” Rhys thought of Sarah and the experience her parents went through in Fenrir’s pack, only for Fenrir to turn her and her brother. But the choice was still up to Sol.

template by vee

[Marisol Leandra Lobera Navarre]

Rhys was asking questions that she didn’t want to think about. Sol hadn’t tried too hard to remember much about that night in January. It all became something of a blur, the more she tried to recall what happened. And sometimes, the scars on her back felt like the only real reminder that it’d been real at all and not just a vivid nightmare that came back to haunt her again and again. She didn’t know why Fenrir Greyback was the way he was. Maybe there wasn’t a real explanation for it, except that he’d decided he could do whatever he wanted with what he considered to be his. It hadn’t been quick. That much she could remember, but whatever he might have been feeling – anger, excitement or just a single-minded focus – well, she didn’t know.

She fidgeted nervously at the thought of trying to guess, and Rhys looked unsettled at his quick glimpse into their father’s head. “I liked him more when he was just El Coco. The bogeyman,” Sol muttered. She crossed her arms stubbornly and felt her face settle back into a familiar scowl. Fenrir had been a lot less frightening when he hadn’t been real, less tangible than the fairies in their garden that stole her grandmother’s papayas. Then he’d just been a mindless monster with empty eyes that could find her across a room. And now? He was actually a real person. With thoughts in his head and some twisted thing where his heart should be. That scared her more than anything Rhys had hinted at in his dark past, but her mother radiated fear constantly. Sol didn’t want to strengthen the resemblance, so she set her jaw tightly.

Maxima and Adrian. Sol hated her stupid brain for latching onto the names and tucking them away in the back of her mind. She still wasn’t completely sold on Rhys, but the hint of more Greybacks held a morbid kind of curiosity for her. “I’m not his victim,” Sol repeated stubbornly, daring to raise her eyes again so she could look straight into Rhys’s chilling stare. It wasn’t his fault, she supposed, but it was hard not to hold the resemblance against him. Having said it for the second time, though, Sol could feel seeds of doubt creeping in. Because she could say it as much as she wanted, but how much had she actually done to prove it lately?

“But,” she paused, chewing on her lip as her hands curled instinctively tighter around the edges of her sweater, “Being alone is easy. I don’t have to…pretend I know what's going on. Explaining is hard. People don’t get it.” That was the simple truth of it all, wasn’t it? She couldn’t hide her connection to Fenrir Greyback anymore – that rumor had gone flying around the local magical community already. And there were werewolves at Castelobruxo, that had monthly appointments with the nurse and professors that knew to set aside classwork for them sometimes. But people still didn’t understand and she was tired of being asked how she felt, what she remembered, if the swelling around her scars had gone down. It sounded like Rhys wasn’t alone anymore, like whatever had plagued him after his turning had gone away. But Sol didn’t see how that was supposed to be easier (and damn to hell what Fenrir wanted or how he did things, why should she care?). Sol eyed Rhys while she pretended to continue studying the beach. “What do you talk about with them, anyway?”

rhys alexander greyback

[rhys alexander greyback]

the clearer and the clearer

the stranger in the mirror

October 12, 2022
Marisol Leandra Lobera Navarre

It at least appeared that Sol was listening to Rhys or considering his words. Which was good considering his patience had been wearing thin. Not that it took much to set him off these days, as fellow younger Cursebreakers would note. Part of it was the stress of the job and the other some unknown presence in Rhys’s life that refused to leave him alone. Again, she insisted that she was not a victim, and mentally, Rhys still disagreed. But he supposed it was still so new and raw for her in a way Rhys couldn’t possibly understand. His whole life had been taken over so young removing any possibility of a ‘before’.

”Why do you owe them an explanation?” A lifetime of eyes looking in his direction full of pity, anger, or curiosity quickly taught Rhys that he couldn’t give an explanation. And how could he? What should a young boy say when asked to answer for his father’s actions? As if Rhys had a choice in whether his mother had lived or died or became a werewolf. But her words resonated. It was easier to be alone. Fewer expectations, less pain in the long run, and fewer people to answer to. Naturally, his mind wandered to the mental picture of Juni that always floated around.

He cleared his throat and relaxed in his chair, crossing his arms while lightly shrugging. ”I dunno, whatever comes up, I guess.” It certainly wasn’t your typical sibling relationship. ”Max writes to me more. Adrian comes around when he feels like it.” Adrian was a relatively recent introduction, while Max Rhys had met when she was eleven. ”Sometimes I can see Max if the timing works out.” Coordinating her Hogsmeade weekends with Rhys’s schedule was challenging but not impossible. But Max was so young and innocent in Rhys’s mind and also protected far more than the rest of them had been. Fenrir had not turned her. But even if they didn’t correspond for some time, there was comfort in knowing people were there.

template by vee

[Marisol Leandra Lobera Navarre]

She hated coming across questions she couldn’t answer, and Rhys giving her another one only strengthened her stubborn resolve to find some kind of smart-sounding response. “Because…” Sol started and abruptly stopped. Her mind had decided to challenge Rhys’s question, but her mouth hadn’t quite caught up. And she didn’t really know how to answer, because didn’t she kind of agree with him? People sucked. Like sure, maybe there were a couple that had proven themselves to be somewhat okay, but most people built themselves up in their mind and then couldn’t deliver on their own expectations. Sol had always liked being on her own, way more than forcing herself into stupid situations with stupid people that drained her battery fast. She didn’t owe them anything, that was true. But Rhys had said it, and she was contractually obligated to think the opposite of whatever he said.

“Because it’s the only way to change their minds,” she finally said, tilting her chin up and daring Rhys to disagree. She still wasn’t sure whether people even deserved the effort -- but she did for her own sake, at least. It was clear that her family didn’t believe in her – whether that was her ability to keep secrets, or handle difficult situations or whatever (and honestly, maybe she hadn’t been doing a good job to show otherwise). But she figured she deserved a decent life, right? That had to be the reason she kept stubbornly clinging to the things she’d loved before her life had fallen to pieces. Even if she couldn’t quite muster a smile right now. Her logic was sort of jumping all over the place, and she'd forgotten the original point she'd been trying to make. Still, she doubled down and decided to finish making her point about how people were the worst. She'd never change her mind about that. “I mean, I can't just let them win, right?”

Sol rolled her eyes at Rhys’s kinda lame answer. Whatever comes up. She did that on exams sometimes whenever she’d forgotten to study a specific section -- carefully writing the vaguest-sounding sentences possible to try and answer the question without actually saying anything. “I bet you’re the best at talking about ‘things’ and ‘stuff’. Girls must go crazy for it,” Sol said, letting go of her sweater so she could make the air quotes with her hands (in case the sarcasm in her tone didn’t convey the message by itself). There was some part of her that was aware she was being unfair, but that internal voice wasn’t strong enough to make decisions and overrule the rest of her. Which was still angry at what had happened to her and upset that she couldn’t just open her eyes and wake up from this never-ending nightmare. And to some strange extent, it felt good to just say whatever was on her mind (even if her thoughts were being obnoxious). She'd been censoring herself for almost a year now and this felt like the first unfiltered conversation she'd had in a long time. Her hands had started to flip through the book while they talked, but mostly because she liked the feel of the pages turning in her hands. She’d sort of forgotten it was there.

rhys alexander greyback

[rhys alexander greyback]

the clearer and the clearer

the stranger in the mirror

October 12, 2022
Marisol Leandra Lobera Navarre

Rhys didn’t pity his newfound half-sister, but it didn’t mean he didn’t feel sympathy for her situation. Not only did she join the ranks of the ostracized bloodline of Fenrir Greyback, but also the growing list of his victims—those who must live with the monthly reminder of how their father had violently violated them. Rhys could never wrap his mind around how one attacks a five-year-old, though he supposed had his mother been able to move from her village in Wales, Fenrir might not have gotten to Rhys until he was much older.

Watching her mind at work, Sol seemed flustered by his question. But Rhys had a point to make, which was better learned now rather than later. If that affected this new connection, then so be it. Regardless of whether Rhys existed in Sol’s life or not, the lesson remained the same. Scoffing, Rhys paused a moment. ”It’s a waste of time.” He responded, perhaps a bit too coldly. ”People will already have their minds made up.” It was his turn to cross his arms. The years had drilled this lesson into Rhys repeatedly. ”Even when they say they aren’t scared…or none of this matters…”

A bitterness crept into his words as faces flashed through his mind. People who had come and gone from Rhys’s life or decided he wasn’t worth it. Well, it was best that Sol learned that less now while she was young rather than suffering from it as Rhys now did. Maybe that’s why, even with his siblings, Rhys didn’t aggressively pursue them. Of course, he gave it a chance as he tried to figure out what having a family was like—but what did they owe one another? Nothing. His thoughts returned as Sol sarcastically commented on Rhys’s social skills. ”It’s a shame we all can’t be as charming as you.” Rhys responded flatly. Seeing as Sol was not eleven as Max had been when they first met, Rhys didn’t see her as a child. But this stubborn and angry girl who, deep down, reminded Rhys of himself a bit.

template by vee

[Marisol Leandra Lobera Navarre]

One might’ve thought that a reunion between long-lost siblings would be more…serious, or something. Especially considering the parent they had in common, and the carefully chaotic way he’d absolutely wrecked both of their lives. Maybe that was one of the reasons Sol had been dragging her feet about the whole thing. She didn’t want a telenovela scene of dramatic exclamations of loyalty and instant twin sparks of familiarity with someone who was practically a stranger. She also didn’t want to pretend that either of them owed this to the other, like acknowledging that something good might yet come out of Fenrir’s reckless selfishness. So yeah. The tone was different than what she’d thought. A bit more dry, a lot more casual, and maybe even a hint at a joke that might’ve made her smile in a different context.

Still. She couldn’t say she was hating this, which was a glowing compliment as far as her standards were concerned. Even if Rhys did look like a dork, and even if he was way more sensible and level-headed than Sol had been hoping he would be. Rhys seemed utterly convinced that people weren’t worth it, and Sol raised an eyebrow at the way he crossed his arms and stared out into the distance. Defensive much? It started off fairly vague, but by the end…talking about people who seemed scared or unwilling to admit when something mattered…well, Sol was unimpressed with the unsubtle digs at someone’s character. “Are you talking about me or you?” she asked dryly, although she actually figured the answer was neither. Clearly Rhys hated all people because he hated someone in particular. Or they hated him. Either way, his baggage looked heavy and Sol was already carrying enough of her own to last an entire guilt trip. She didn’t fancy trying to pick up his as well.

They stared at each other with mirrored poses as Rhys flatly commented on the apparently bottomless depths of Sol’s ability to charm people. But she didn’t need to kid herself. Her charisma skills were at approximately zero, maybe even less. If people hung around (and they didn’t have a habit of doing that), it was for some other reason. “Your English isn’t very good,” Sol said matter-of-factly (like hell she was going to admit that she’d never heard a Welsh accent before and found it somewhat intriguing), “Because it’s not charm. But sometimes when you rub two brain cells together, they make a spark. And that can accomplish all kinds of things.” She nodded once as if she was underlining the last part of the sentence as she looked pointedly at Rhys. They were still circling around their earlier topic about whether people were worth it at all, and it was hard for Sol to pinpoint what her own motivations were. She didn’t really care if people got her or not, if they understood or connected to what she thought and said. But it didn’t stop her from obsessively trying to improve her own skills. Try and find the answer to everything, try and crack every puzzle. Like that could make herself indispensable, and that would make people want to keep her around. Even if they didn’t get her. “How are you even here?” Sol all but demanded, tearing her eyes away from the boardwalk to appraise Rhys again, “Doesn’t the bank notice if you’re not…violating sacred monuments to the past, or whatever?” If she could’ve glared at herself, Sol would’ve done it. Why was she prolonging the conversation? Why did she keep asking questions? Sol thought she’d made it clear at the beginning, to Rhys and to herself, that she was obligated to be here and she’d just come here to check an item off the list and go back to her moody stomping around and ignoring everybody phase. Curiosity really would kill the cat (or the dog, or the werewolf, or whatever).

rhys alexander greyback