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Sleep eluded Charlie. He feigned it until he was certain Matteusz was sleeping deeply enough for him to slip out of bed without disturbing him. Initially, he planned to sit by his window and stare at the night sky, but he kept seeing the Cabinet of Souls out of the corner of his eye. Normally, it brought him comfort, but after today it filled him with dread. He would go downstairs—away from the cabinet.
When he got to the kitchen, he didn’t bother with the lights and headed straight to the kettle. Charlie turn on the tap and began filling it while gazing across the darkened room. It took him a moment before he realized there was a blonde head on the edge of the sofa. Quill. For whatever reason, she had a something—a towel or a flannel—covering half her face and, thankfully, appeared to be asleep.
He set the kettle on his base and looked into the cabinet holding the tea and coffee. Quill had many different types of coffee, so much so that the lower shelf was nearly overflowing, but since Matteusz moved in there were now just as many tea varieties on the shelf above. Charlie selected one of the herbal blends that Matteusz said was supposed to help with sleep. Matteusz had bought it for Quill, but she had scoffed at the suggestion. However, looking at the number of bags left in the box, Charlie could tell that someone had been drinking it. Possibly even tonight, he thought, as he looked at her unmoving form. She was on her side with her knees bent. They weren’t quite drawn to her chest, but she was definitely curled into herself. It was strange to see her so still and so calm.
“If you’re going to make tea at two in the morning, at least have the decency not to stare at me while you do it.”
Charlie jumped at the sound of her voice and he heard her huff in amusement even though she hadn’t moved and shouldn’t be able to see him. Maybe she just assumed she had startled him.
“You’re awake,” he said dryly.
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
Charlie didn’t say anything in response and went back to fixing the tea. He was tempted to make a single mug and take it back upstairs, but he took out a second one. As much as he didn’t want to deal with her, he knew he needed to talk to her—to figure out why she was acting so erratically. When the tea was ready, he carried it over and set her mug on the coffee table next to the sofa. He studied her and the flannel over her eyes.
"Why is that on your face?”
“You won’t care.”
“I asked.”
“I have a headache.”
Charlie had expected her to dodge his question or provide a sarcastic response, so her straightforward answer surprised him. “Did you take something for it?”
“Nothing to take. It should go away when your face heals. Sooner if I’m lucky.” Quill removed the flannel from her face. She attempted a glare, but it was as if her heart wasn’t in it. “Told you that you wouldn’t care.”
She was right. Charlie didn’t care now that he knew the cause of her headache. She knew the parameters of her punishment and deserved the repercussions of her actions. He did not relish in her pain, but if it taught her a lesson then it had to be just.
“I bet your face doesn’t even hurt anymore,” she muttered—ostensibly to herself as she folded the flannel—but it was obviously directed at him. Quill pushed herself up to a sitting position and winced noticeably from the sudden movement.
Even after all these weeks, he still wasn’t used to seeing her in this form. Her face was so much more expressive than her natural state. At times, she even appeared vulnerable. Unbidden, the sound of her scream echoed in his head and he heard Matteusz’ voice. What was the thing doing to her when she screamed? Charlie had said he didn’t know. It hadn’t been a lie. He did not know for certain what the arn was doing, but it was likely a jab or a bite into her brain tissue. He hadn’t wanted to think about it then and still didn't want to now, so he focused on her eyes. Her eyes were the same as they had always been. They were the eyes of the terrorist who deserved the punishment of the arn.
“You knew what would happen when you hit me.”
“Of course I did,” she said with a sigh. He watched her exchange the flannel for the mug. She pulled a face when she saw the contents. “What is this?”
“Herbal tea. Don’t act like you don’t like it. I know you’ve been drinking it.” Quill rolled her eyes but took a sip without further complaint. “If you knew the consequences, then why did you do it?”
“Because I, like all Quill, have poor impulse control in addition to being heartless.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes, you did.” He started to open his mouth to respond but Quill cut him off. “Don’t insult me by pretending you didn’t.”
Charlie watched her take a long, slow sip of tea. “I know you’re grieving; so am I.”
“Are you?”
“Of course, I am,” he snapped. Charlie was trying to stay calm and reasonable, but it was impossible when she questioned him like that. How could she doubt his grief? “My people are gone too.”
“You still have their souls.”
“Is that what you want? The souls of the Quill?”
“Quill don’t have souls.”
The answer didn’t surprise him. He knew what they believed. It’s what allowed them to live as they did—violence can be unchecked if you pretend you don’t have a soul. “Saying that doesn’t make it so.”
“Why is it so hard for you to accept that I believe something different than you?”
“Because you’re wrong. Those beliefs are wrong.”
Her jaw dropped slightly and he watched her literally bite her tongue. She didn’t stay silent though. She never did. “What was I thinking?” she scoffed as she set down her tea. “I’m a Quill; you’re a Rhodia. Of course, I’m wrong. Centuries of Quill history and tradition are meaningless and primitive. I should accept everything you say without question, like a good little Quill.”
Charlie let out an exasperated sigh of frustration. “Why must you fight me on everything? What do you want from me?”
“You know what I want.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“It is genocide.”
“No, the real reason.” Quill leaned forward and rested her folded hands on her knees as she continued, “It’s just us now—Matteusz and your little friends aren’t listening—be honest.”
Charlie kept his posture stiff and formal. He regretted his decision to bring her the tea. He should have gone straight up to his room and avoided all of this. “There’s nothing more to say—I’m not comfortable with genocide.”
“Matteusz isn’t comfortable with it, but you can be.”
He responded with a shake of his head. Quill cocked her head to the side and studied him. He didn’t move. He barely blinked under her inscrutable gaze.
“You’re not shaking your head because you disagree with me,” she continued evenly. “You’re shaking you head because you want me to stop talking—because you know I’m right.”
Charlie tried to break eye contact, but found he couldn’t.
“It is a just punishment for what they did to us,” she reasoned. “You know this—you only hesitated because it would also destroy your precious souls.”
Damn she was perceptive. Of course, she would remember what he had said in the school and that it had been Matteusz who had raised the mass murder issue. Charlie hated her for it.
“They are all I have left of my people,” he argued.
“Your people are dead—so are mine.” Her voice was matter-of-fact. All the emotion from earlier was gone. “The Shadow Kin deserve the same. You agreed with me, your actions proved it.”
“I was under duress,” he argued even though a part of him knew she was right.
“That head teacher was incapacitated.”
“You…”
“Don’t claim I was manipulating you, because that’s not how this works.” She tapped her temple for emphasis. “You control me—not the other way around. It was your decision.”
Quill was right. Not completely, of course, but in many respects she was. As much as he had wanted to save Matteusz and everyone else on Earth. When it came down to it, if he was going to sacrifice the souls of his people, it would be to destroy those who destroyed them. It was of little consequence if a brutal race was erased from the universe.
“But I didn’t do it.”
“Because of the souls—not because you thought it was wrong.” Quill smirked slightly as she continued, “You want them dead as much as I do. Only you won’t admit to yourself that you are just as capable of being as ruthless as me.”
“I am nothing like you. Charlie wanted to shout, but he didn’t. He would not give her the satisfaction of getting a rise out of him. “I will never be like you. I could never kill without remorse.”
She stared at him silently for a full minute before speaking. “More’s the pity.”
Charlie had expected another argument—at the very least her standard ‘freedom fighter’ excuse—but instead Quill merely picked up the discarded flannel and stood up.
“I’m going to my room,” she said as she walked past him. There was no eye contact—she wasn’t even scowling. Her face was blank. Apparently, their argument was over. “You should get back to your human.”