"Gilead, is Miss Mary Eata mentally healthy?"
Clayton finally couldn't help asking Gilead the question haunting him over the past two days.
Ever since he had disciplined that girl, she would wander the area's alleys every day, seemingly in search of him.
Clayton even suspected that she had already quit her job to make time for the endeavor.
He had to keep his nose trained on the scent carried on the wind, for fear that he would bump into her on the street.
Before the fight, he didn't think it would be a big deal because he believed Mary would forget him as soon as she turned around.
However, after discovering Mary could launch a lethal attack on a slightly suspicious stranger, him, that is, without justifications, he decided to distance himself from the girl.
Her nerves were as thin as those of a soldier recently retreating from the battlefield.
This had enabled her to see right through Clayton's lies, but also gravitated her toward extreme violence.
Given that Gilead was her partner, Clayton figured that he might have her ear.
The werewolf was unwilling to use extreme methods to get her out of his way. She was trained the way he had been. Despite her young age, everything about her suggested an unmistakably prolonged training, which presumably had started from childhood.
Apparently, Mary's father was a fellow horseman.
Clayton might even have spent his serviceman days with her father, who knows?
Furthermore, Mary was the only constable who would pay out of her own pocket to investigate whether he had committed premeditated murder.
Back when he reported the case, all the constables bought his deposition and didn't even bother to conduct a field investigation.
But such trust turned out unacceptable to Clayton.
For he should have been eyed with suspicion.
Morality and justice had been trampled underfoot by something inane.
None but Mary Eata.
Her acts had proved there were people remaining committed to justice.
The way she now looked was something Clayton hated to see.
Nevertheless, the werewolf's anxiety couldn't infect Gilead. No matter what explosive incidents had happened, the archive room would remain quiet as ever.
Here, bookshelves stood in lines and rows, and safes in every corner mounded up. Only the archivist knew where to find a particular needed document.
Lounging in his chair, Gilead casually asked,
"Surely she is no ordinary woman. Do you believe just anyone who can't distinguish people's faces is fit for my partner?"
"I should think our own kind is more fitting."
"No, they aren't. Those capable are in more important positions, while those assigned to the Chief Constabulary are all violent psychopaths. They are newborns that have cropped up over the past few months and dislike taking the efficacious medicine, so excitable that they often mess things up. Rather than with them, I can do better with Mary Eata."
Clayton sensed something was wrong. "How did you explain to her after fights?"
"Pandemic. I told her that those grotesque, savage newborns are patients infected with some disease native to the colonies. We can curb the spread of it only by killing them. Then quite obediently, she would do my bidding. Seemingly from her father's last words, she feels obliged to maintain public security."
"You old fart!"
If she had been going about businesses like this, her mental state was perfectly explainable.
Indeed, she had been on some sort of battlefield the whole time.
Clayton bared his teeth. However, he couldn't reprimand Gilead for anything.
Because
"The process matters little if the outcome is right." Spreading his palms, Gilead voiced an opinion that struck a chord with Clayton. "We have ensured Sasha's peace on the surface. That spells victory."
"By the way, she did feel troubled not long ago, but she has agreed to carry on with the job after enlisting my service to investigate you. But I have sided with you on this matter. What's more, you don't have to worry that she would hire another private investigator to probe into your life."
Gilead had blown things up, hoping that Clayton could understand how indispensable Mary was to him.
But Clayton felt that Gilead was shirking.
Anyway, it was adventurous enough to throw a pure human being into the breach.
The werewolf wore a gloomy face. "This is none of my business. In any case, you are obliged to cover up the Council's members' identities. Don't make it sound like you're doing it for me. You'd better keep her away from Darkins from now on. Supposing she really discovers our identities, what shall we do by then?"
Since Mary had believed such far-fetched bullshit from Gilead, she must have utmost confidence in him.
Gilead appeared honest toward Clayton.
Detecting Clayton's disdainful tone, Gilead sat upright as his expression grew intense.
"If someday people realize our existence, who do you think will adapt themselves better to it and stand a greater chance of survival? I am not just exploiting her. "
Clayton fell silent.
Indeed, he hadn't taken into account the approaching Dark Moon.
Should Darkins increase further, the situation in ancient times, where monsters and human beings hated and assaulted each other, might well repeat itself.
"Have you told your family your changes?"Gilead asked. "Telling them ahead of time is better than leaving them in the dark. It is not amusing at all if you are shot dead by them during a full moon while uncontrollably changing into your true form."
His lip corner twitching and his heart racing, Clayton felt as though waking up with a start.
"I'm living apart from them and don't want them to know this."
After all these years living alone, he rarely thought of relying on his family for anything.
Furthermore, Cuitisi was a nun. She must have raised Donna to be a devotee.
The idea of a pious family encountering a werewolf sounded unappealing to him.
Even though Donna could probably be a werewolf, Clayton hadn't seen her personally. A thorough consideration assured him that his niece was just an ordinary person by now.
The reason was plain and simple.
Had she discovered Donna was a werewolf, Cuitisi must now be on her way to Sasha with a shotgun to settle accounts with the one she considered the last of the Bellos.
Cuitisi might not know from which side the werewolf bloodline had passed down, but she would definitely not blame herself.
This was an effortless deduction from Clayton's experience.
"Just tell them. Your family is people who will accept you unconditionally. Even if you don't tell them, they will be brought face-to-face with this sooner or later. I'd even suggest that, if you can, you bring them over and enjoy the rest of your time together. A shape-shifter's lifespan is longer than a human being's."
Gilead reclined the chair further and leaned back in it, the relaxation suffusing his face reminiscent of Mary's. It was unknown who had channeled whom.
"I will consider it."
Clayton still did not give a definite answer.
His hometown, Bartnu, though sparsely populated and poorly connected to the rest of the world, was a harmonious community, where everyone could provide for themselves.
Cuitisi and Donna were not necessarily safer here than in Bartnu.
Furthermore, he remained dubious toward the Council.
He worried that they might get swept up in his possible conflict with the Council.
Clayton set foot outside the archive room and made his way down to the ground-floor waiting room.
His main intention here today was not to complain to Gilead, but to atone for his sins.
As agreed, Viva, the 'Zombie's widow, would come here today.
He had anticipated testy denunciations.
The Chief Constabulary was not fully subjected to the Council's control and had rules of its own.
If Clayton desired to meet with Viva, it could only happen here with a witness present.
This was to prevent a manslaughter from losing control and repeating the crime.
Tonight, a full moon was expected, during which a werewolf would risk going berserk, so Clayton had taken the medicine beforehand. He was not going to tear anyone into pieces in public.
Viva hadn't given a specific time; therefore, Clayton had to keep waiting for her, perhaps past ten o'clock.
However, around six, a constable walked a scrawny pants-wearing woman in.
"She is Viva," the constable said.
"If you don't mind, I will leave now," he was sounding Clayton out. It was dinner time. Nobody would like to waste time sitting around here.
Clayton had no objections and only fixed his gaze on Viva.
Poor woman. Sadness had worn her out.
In the candlelight from the table, each wrinkle on her face seemed inches deep. She looked more like the deceased's mother.
Although the temperature drop had spurred her to bundle up, she still cut a skinny figure.
From her early arrival, it was obvious that she wasn't working full-time. And she must be childless, otherwise she would be cooking at the moment, Clayton reflected.
Viva took her seat. Then, a long silence ensued.
Clayton spoke first. "I am deeply sorry for killing your husband. If you are struggling with money, I can help you out. Or if you have children, I will pay for their schooling until they graduate."
"Is this all you have to say?"
The woman's icy voice sounded so plain, to the point of creating a monotone. And she never returned Clayton's gaze. It was impossible to tell whether she was overly sober or high-strung.
"Yes. This is what compensation I can make." Clayton honestly replied.
"Are you atoning for your sins?"
"I'm making up for my faults."
PS: For some unpleasant reason, the book has been republished. You can find it in my profile. I plan to update this one until Chapter 50 .