Page 112 of Tracking Snow

One pinches the bridge of his nose. "Snow, I can’t talk about it."

Can’t talk...

I close the gap in two steps, my finger poking his chest. "Listen, I know you love your secrets, your mystery, and all that bullcrap. But what. The. Fuck. Just. Happened."

The line draws tighter between One’s brows until his eyes flash green. Red. Blue then white again.

"We aren’t discussing this," he says, and walks off. Like he's done with me.

"What?" I shriek.

He simply pulls his hood over his head as he strides for the alley mouth.

Oh helllll no.

I catch up to him in a second, stopping him in his tracks by grabbing the back of his beloved hoodie he loves to hide in. He twists around to see where I’ve held onto him.

"I want to talk to Two."

"Snow, I’m not going to do that," One says with terse impatience, like I'm some kind of child he can’t bother to humor.

"I want to talk to Two," I grind out again.

"I’m leaving," he warns, ripping his hoodie out of my grasp. He can do it. He can run, and I’d never catch him.

"TWO!" I yell.

One recoils and shudders before opening his eyes. Purple.

Two came.

"Tell me what is happening," I ask again.

Two’s normal, devil-may-care, too cool for school attitude has been replaced with a pensive hesitance.

He doesn’t want to tell me either, but if any of them will, it’s him. He rebels against One, like a middle child resenting an older, more perfect sibling.

"One won’t tell me. He’s trying to control everything. He’s trying to control me. I won’t be controlled. I want the truth." It’s a bit of a wild guess that Two will respond to this, but I need to push that button if I want to get what I want.

Two sighs with frustration, looking at the sky while shoving his hands in his pants pockets.

"One is protecting someone else," Two explains, throwing me a bone.

"Who? Not you."

He shakes his head, still not meeting my gaze.

"You don’t get it, Snow. We’re wrong. All of us."

I shake my head, not understanding. We just went over this crap last night. We fucked out all of that nonsense, and here he is back to his old lines. Why?

"Magic," he finally says, throwing his arms out wide. "It’s an abomination. It’s unnatural, and it’s corroding this city, the world, the realms. We are part of that problem."

Okay, now I’m officially lost. I was asking about a dead cat. Then it slowly dawns on me.

"Did you..." I hesitate, not wanting to say the wrong thing. "Two, did you do something to the cat? With your magic?"

His face twists with pain and anger as if I’d jabbed a dagger in him and twisted.