She did not want to think of why Wade had vioted that boundary. The fact that someone did something heinous and willfully resisted, even acknowledging it was wrong when confronted, should be enough. But Agnes had a sense to her. A calm sort of surety that made Shilloh feel like refusing to answer would make her look almost painfully childish.

  "I can't imagine why any reasonable person would do that, Agnes. That's what's bothering me. He broke into someone's house so they would be provoked enough that he could kill them and plead self-defense. He doesn't act like a branch breaker, so he should understand. But he just kept saying over and over that 'it was a crypto.' Like being magical cancels the rules of decency or makes you any less entitled to live."

  Agnes hummed thoughtfully before going to check on her cookies. "Is the boy magical himself?"

  "He's a Were."

  "Oh, do you know what sort?"

  "No."

  "Well, when you do find out, don't judge based on species. I know what they say about lions' endurance, but I can tell you it's all phooey. Still, you can't be a Were without getting odd looks just because you're magic. So, it's not likely that magic prejudice is the cause of this. I mean, I can tell you stories where a Were went the opposite way. They were the most prejudiced to try and prove they weren't one of the monsters, but it doesn't seem like your Wade is the sort."

  Shilloh really hoped so. For all that the world thought she was vanil human, the older she got, and the more she felt herself resonate with her heritage, the less human she might become.

  Even imagining Wade looking down on her with dead eyes and that effortless confidence turning into something cold and abrupt made her heartache.

  Agnes fiddled around in the kitchen and turned off the oven. There was a comfortable pause as she began transferring the cookies to a cooling rack. They were so soft that she had to lift the entire sheet of aluminum foil they rested on to ensure they didn't break under their own weight before cooling and setting.

  "Maybe," Agnes said," he knows not to be a branch breaker, but he has a different noble goal he thinks is more important."

  "I mean, he did keep talking about how him not acting was the same as his deciding it was okay to let someone else get hurt."

  "And what do you think?"

  "I think it's bull shit."

  "Language," she said with disapproval.

  "Sorry, Agnes, it's just…" deep breath. Count to ten. "It's this horrible entitlement I see all the time. This way of making harmful choices and then pretending like there's no downside. Killing something, killing anything, has an effect. Acting like it's not important, or only important if it directly impacts people, is wrong."

  "And you think Wade doesn't know this?"

  "I don't know. He just kept talking about kids and how he would be responsible if someone accidentally got hurt. But that's not his choice. Everyone chooses to do things. And if they chose danger, then it's pandering not to let them live what they picked."

  Agnes settled back in her own chair, "I think I see. To you, aside from respecting what is sacred to others, it's a matter of consent. If someone makes informed, enthused consent to be in a dangerous pce, then that is their business. Trying to kill every potential danger is taking away people's ability to choose, and it's being a poor house guest to the forest at the same time."

  "Yes!" Shilloh cried, smacking a hand on her leg, "Exactly! If a crypto starts something, then we should defend ourselves. Suppose there is something inherently violent, like a manifested monster that is mad with blood lust. In that case, it can't choose to coexist. And we can't make choices that will keep the peace. I get taking them out however you can. But respect and choice are more important than convenience. Pretending like you're some avenging hero whose power is so great that anything bad that happens is because of you isn't an acceptable excuse. That's just egotism. The world doesn't revolve around us. Stuff happens. The important thing is to choose kindness where you can."

  Agnes nodded, "Amen. We are not half so powerful as we think we are, and not a quarter as important."

  "Thank you!"

  "Of course, Deary. But, if I may, it might also be worth thinking about what a responsible, caring young man might have been told. What he might have been made to believe to keep him motivated to do a hard job. He talked about children, right?"

  Shilloh didn't like where this was going, "Yes. Why?"

  "Well, I can just imagine some macho man looking at a tragedy, turning to his trainee and saying that they need to try harder so this never happens. That they need to be perfect. Then those macho men can pretend like the pain they feel looking at a hurt child is a one-time thing that will never hurt them again if they just work hard enough. Some things are so hard that we can only keep doing them by twisting how we see the world. It's remarkable, really, especially if you look at the history of propaganda. It helps to pretend we have no choice, or that we have control over things that no individual can impact."

  "You're saying he may be brainwashed?"

  "We don't need to go that far. Everyone does it a little. I guarantee you that it took some sort of crazy to raise as many children as I did. Thinking back now, well, I couldn't raise a kid again. I can't imagine doing it. The mess, the not sleeping, being called the worst mommy in the world because I made them learn how to read instead of letting them py. Lord help me; it takes a dedicated sort of crazy, and that's not even talking about my marriage. I imagine anything hard takes a little bit of, let's call it, 'reality resistance.'"

  "Like how you start getting a mantra during a super long hike?"

  "Maybe. Can't say I've ever done that." ("First time I've heard you say that," Shilloh whispered to herself.) I'm mostly talking about the generic sort of self-hypnotization we all do. Maybe he's just an absolute donkey of a man, or it could be that you need some extra strong self-hypnosis to put yourself in dangerous crypto fights every day. Or could be he just needs a strong woman to come into his life and help him realize how to bance not snapping branches with being proactive in helping people. I mean, I can imagine a simir situation with some young boy stepping on saplings because he wanted to make it easy for his younger brother to follow him to those lovely sacred parts of nature you were talking about."

  That resonated with her. "I actually think that fits," Shilloh said, fiddling with the callouses on her hand." I could see him being too focused on protecting someone to see the very real injustice he was doing in the moment."

  "Perfect. Now, let's talk more about what he looks like while we head to the car."

  "Car?"

  "Well, would you prefer to walk to the bar?"

  "I never said anything about drinking."

  "What, you think I give this priceless advice for free."

  "Oh, this is a transaction now? Because I might have a bill for the pill del—"

  "Don't be upset because you're the only one here volunteering. Not all of us self-fgelte by boring ourselves with annoying old dies."

  "You're not a boring old dy. You're—"

  "A chump who sves to give counseling sessions. A rube toiling to guide you through emotional turmoil for free?"

  "You just want to guilt trip yourself a wingwoman."

  "I want to make you happy and spend time with you."

  "You want—"

  "To stay in, thanklessly sving to lift your spirits in between feeding you homemade cookies like a Roman emperor being presented grapes by a servant?"

  "I was bout to say that you," she said, her voice getting a bit louder. "just want an accomplice for your horny binge drinking escapades!"

  "Well, fine then. No need to shout. I didn't know you felt so strongly about it. Why don't we just settle in and work on those cookies? I'm not sure I have everything, but I think I can rustle up some of that meatloaf you liked so much."

  "…really?"

  "Of course, Hun. Come help me see if I can find some carrots."

  Four hours and three shots ter, Shilloh jolted up from where she had been resting her elbows on the sticky counter of a dive bar. Somehow, a 'quick grocery trip' had turned into drunk Agnes handing out snickerdoodles to a variety of attractive twenty-year-olds who had fallen in love with the evil biddy.

  The only saving grace was that she hadn't run into Birch. If the two of them had met, she could only imagine the chaos. Luckily, no god or fate was cruel enough to make that happen.

  Right?

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