Authors: Unknown
“Ha! You know I’ll see you two Friday’s from now. Same time, same place, right?” she asked.
I stood up and reached for a bundle of sage giving her the present that I give all my clients making them feel special, “take this and use it as incense. It will guard against evil spirits and will cleanse your mind and heart giving you the clarity to make the right decisions.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said tucking the bundle of green sticks into her alligator bag.
I smiled at her again, donning the soft professionalism of a con-artist and escorted her toward the door. I wanted to push her out of my home as fast as I could and I never wanted to see her again. Perhaps I saw my lies etched on her face and I couldn’t deal with it, perhaps I knew that I was a fraud, a selfish charlatan. I may be feeling that cold power again, but I wasn’t using it to help her, instead, I was using it for my own selfish gains.
“Thank you again,” she said clutching harder at her purse, “I just want you to know, that I’ll be recommending you to all my friends, so you might want to hire a secretary for all the calls you‘ll be getting.”
“Thank you, Ms. Jean, I’ll try not to let you down.”
“Oh, you,” she said grinning from ear to ear. She had heard what she wanted to hear and that was just fine with her.
I watched her lope down the concrete path past the low-rising fronds of bushes that I have no name for and wanted desperately to yell out and tell her to stop and face the music. I wanted her to know that I was a fraud, that most people like me, were frauds, that we took advantage of the down-trodden because we are nothing more than blood-sucking parasites, leeches.
Instead I smiled and waved goodbye and knew that I would see her again in a few weeks.
Chapter
Three
I closed the door on Ms. Jean and heard the incessant tapping of branches dancing against my bedroom window. The branches had been beating against the glass with more haste lately and one of these days, when I had the time, I would call management and have them trim those bushes down. But for the time being, I was forced to be content with the constant rapping against the window and made to feel like the raven was watching me with a close eye saying, “nevermore”. It’s odd how the raven was the man’s conscious screaming at him to make the right decision almost like the rapping at my window is telling me to stop Ms. Jean and pronounce the truth.
My legs carried me to the bedroom window where I peered out into the cloudless sky and blinding light. The branches were still as were the leaves and not even the air stirred. My heart beat just a little bit faster as I realized the wind wasn’t blowing the branches against the glass. Could it be that I was hearing my own guilt begging me to confess?
I turned and stared down at the floor and closed my eyes. No, I’m not some character from a Poe novel, I’m just an ordinary werewolf with a wild imagination. The wind had probably died down as soon as I came into the room. These things happen. My guilt was screaming at me telling me to recognize the fact that I’m ripping people off left and right and that I ditched Billy to stare at his own abyss alone last night.
But these things shouldn’t be bothering me. After all, I left Billy alone with his thoughts because he needed time. He didn’t need someone to hold his hand and watch him cry. He was suffering enough without a woman staring at his pain and agony and petting him like life would be okay. Because honestly, it wouldn’t. I lost people I love, my parents, and my life was ruined because of it. So how the hell am I supposed to tell Billy that life would be okay without his lover when I don’t even believe that? I guess I could argue that I’m an excellent liar due to my experience at being at charlatan, but telling people lies because they’re desperate and helping someone through grief are two completely different subjects.
My cell phone rang ushering the 5
th
Symphony of Beethoven throughout my humble abode. Usually I keep the phone in silent mode because I don’t want to disturb the atmosphere for my clients, but today I hadn’t bothered. Having seen Clyde’s dead body and my recent re-acquaintance with the entity were higher up on the totem pole than a mere cell phone mode so I could be forgiven for forgetting this lack of attention to detail.
I said hello before I even looked at the caller ID, which had been stupid. I was trying to ignore anyone in the family because I didn’t want to deal with Clyde’s death anymore because I knew I was a failure. Although, I should try looking at Clyde’s body again, perhaps the entity or spirit or whatever would return and tell me something important. Or not. The entity is not predictable.
“Good, you’re okay,” said Matt through the wireless speaker, “I’ve been trying to call you all day.”
“Yeah, well, I had clients today and only now just checked my phone,” okay so I was lying. What’s new?
“I’m just glad you’re alright.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Sophie,” he said holding the edge of fatigue on his tongue, “Billy’s missing.”
“What do you mean?”
“We found some blood, but his trail stopped a few feet away from Clyde’s home.”
“Blood?” I asked more shocked and confused than I had ever been before. I didn’t even know which line of conversation to follow, the blood or the lost trail or worse, Billy’s disappearance. Definitely not the latter. Billy was more than just a wolf-brother, more than a safety partner, more than a friend--he was family. So, to keep sane, my mind focused on blood and completely dismissed the fact that Billy was missing. But with blood, he couldn’t have just run away to mourn Clyde. No, blood was most certainly a bad thing.
“Yeah, blood,” Matt replied slowly, “we can’t track him. I called Ernie and Eric but even they can’t find his scent. It’s like Billy just vanished.”
“But how?” I asked still unable to wrap my head around this disappearance.
“I don’t know,” he said regretfully.
I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. A small headache was beginning to form, threatening to zap all of my brain power and threatening to release the flood of tears that I knew were waiting for Billy. I could feel the sharp burn of caged tears in my throat and knew that at any moment I would be sobbing uncontrollably.
I took a deep breath and felt it shudder as it escaped my lungs. I choked a little on the air and sniffed gently trying desperately to not cry. After all, blood doesn’t necessarily mean he’s dead, he could just be hurt. Well, that sentence didn’t help anything. If he was missing and hurt then the situation was much worse--he could still be in pain. He could be in the hands of a torturer.
The branches once again tapped at the window, beating themselves slowly against the paneled glass. It was a rhythmic tap, tap, tap that shattered the quiet noise of misery sheltering itself in my mind. I was thankful for the abrupt change of subjects, thankful that I wouldn’t have to think about Billy. I don’t respond well to heavy emotions, so I was glad to be listening to the tapping of the raven.
I looked up at the branches and saw that the breeze was nowhere to be found. But the branches were still plaguing the window. My eyes glanced sideways (as much as they could through the wall) to see what was causing the branches to move. A shadow, at least I think it was a shadow, ran from the corner and disappeared.
My heart stopped. My breathing stopped. And then, all at once, panic surged throughout my body like a thousand stampeding mustangs, each hoof pounding at me, breaking every single bone in my body. My empty hand clutched at my chest as I looked around for something to calm me down. I knew the valium I kept in the bathroom was empty; I hadn’t needed to fill the prescription in two years. I didn’t keep paper bags anymore, instead I had used the last of them to carry lunches for the werewolf picnics.
So as my mind raced and my heart frantically raced ahead of it, I sat on the bed, gripped in fear. I couldn’t feel my beast, I couldn’t even hear him. I think it was angry with my fear because it was stronger than this panic that had stricken me. So, the beast didn’t stir. It didn’t lend me its power to control myself, instead it rested, curled up in that dark, dank cave.
My muscles were clenched, frozen in a static fear. I had a death grip on the phone in my hand and my legs were stiff as a statue remaining straight out, knees straight, as I was sitting. They didn’t bend, they just kept pointing out the window.
From a great distance, I heard my name. It was hollow and empty like a transistor radio, and yet, the more I listened, the more it became loud and annoying. My name was repeated again and again.
I blinked. The frozen state of fear began to melt away as Matt’s power drifted over the phone and gently rocked me awake. I don’t know how otherworldly abilities can use scientific technology, but they can. Thank God.
“Sophie, answer me.”
“Y-yeah,” I stumbled.
“What just happened?”
“I thought I saw…”
What did I see? Was the part of me that panicked just being irrational? There are several domestic cats that roam this area so the shadow could have been a cat. That would make logical sense. But if that were the case, why did I freak out like that?
No, it was more than just a local cat. I hadn’t felt those overwhelming feelings of fear since that horrible night; since I was attacked.
My stomach dropped like a two-ton sand bag filled with rocks. The slow and steady onslaught of panic was slowly beginning to return as my memory played the image of those great, big gold eyes and large white teeth.
I swallowed so loudly I could have leveled a mountain with just the sound, “I think…”
“What is it, Sophie?”
“I…I don’t know.”
Why couldn’t I bring myself to tell him? It’s not like I was embarrassed to tell someone that I was scared out of my mind that my attacker was back in town. So, why couldn’t I tell him?
I glanced sideways again at the window and saw a black cat sneak through the bushes and rest gently in the hidden leaves.
I took a deep breath and felt stupid. It had been just a cat. The nightmare that was my attacker still haunted me and I needed to learn how to deal with it. I shouldn’t be jumping at every black shadow that passed me because shadows can’t kill you. Well, except for the Lithe shadows but that’s beside the point. They don’t reside in America.
“Sophie?” I heard Matt ask.
“No, I’m fine. I’m just…jumpy is all.”
“I’m sorry I wanted you to ‘see’ Clyde. It’s traumatic enough to hear about his death without having to view it. It would make anyone jumpy after seeing him like that.”
“I guess so.”
I rubbed at my head and felt the ache subside just enough so that the disappearance of Billy was foremost in my mind. As soon as I thought of Billy, I felt those tears rush back to me. I held them as tight as I could because I shouldn’t cry yet. If I did, that would be admitting that Billy was lost forever and there was still hope that he was fine. So, I couldn’t cry. I wouldn’t.
“Well, I called in some help,” continued Matt. I really hadn’t been listening to a word he was saying.
“Who?” I asked.
“Damon Black.”
“Damon Black? Damon Black? What kind of name is Damon Black? It sounds made up.”
“I don’t care what his name is, he’s good at what he does. He’s a preternatural detective and sometimes,” he paused, wondering whether or not to drop the next bomb, “sometimes he’s a Hunter.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” I yelled into the phone feeling the hot rush of anger now fueling me instead of the delicate wash of tears.
“Watch the language,” Matt said ignoring the most important question of the century.
“He’s a Hunter?”
“Yeah, and a good one.”
“You hired a Hunter to find Billy?”
“Yeah, and to find Clyde’s murderer.”
“Are you fucking insane?!”
He sighed again into the receiver, “watch the language.”
“How can you be so blasé about this? He’s a fucking Hunter!”
“Watch the language.”
“Say ‘watch the language’ one more time and I’m coming over there and ripping your fucking heart out!” I screamed into the phone hoping that finally my anxiety and fear and anger would slap him in the head and bring him to his senses. You don’t hire a Hunter to track a werewolf. Why? Because they kill us. That’s why. They pull our wolf out and kill it and skin it and sell it to the highest bidder. They’re nothing more than poachers.
“They’re nothing more than poachers, Matt!” I yelled again.
“I know, I had those concerns, but he’s also a detective. He’s solved a lot of preternatural crimes. This guy isn’t going to hurt us. We’re paying him.”
“Yeah, and when this case is over, he’ll come after us and kill us, Matt! What the hell were you thinking?”
“Look,” said Matt, his voice growing with power so thick that it was beginning to dry my tongue and choke out my breath, “I wouldn’t do anything that would hurt this family. You have to trust me on this. He may be a hunter, but he helps the innocent. He only kills the rogue wolves, like the one that attacked you. Any wolves that are in a family, he doesn’t mess with because he knows we are not a danger to society.”
“Oh, yeah, a right saint, he is. He still kills people,” I replied feeling overtly sarcastic.
“Regardless, he’s coming over to visit you today to ask you some questions.”
“What?! You involved me?”
“He doesn’t know you’re a werewolf, he just knows that you knew Clyde. He’s trying to get all the information he can. Okay? He’s not there to hurt you.”
“Screw that, he’s not coming over here!”
“Thank you for not cursing,” he said, always trying to discourage me from saying bad words and encouraging my language skills, “but he’s already on his way. Now, you would have known about this had you been answering your phone.”
“Oh, yeah, so this is my fault.”
“He’s not going to hurt us. I promise you.”
“He’ll find out I’m a werewolf.”
“Not if we don’t tell him.”
“He’s a hunter. He’ll know.”
“So what if he does? He’s not going to hurt us.”
I just shook my head and watched as a beat-up 1998 black Hummer pulled up in front of my condo. The silver on the vehicle had been painted black to keep it from reflecting any light. The windows were tinted so dark that I could barely make out any shapes even as the sun cast its rays upon the vehicle. There were a few shapes that I could see, quite clearly--three rifles were hanging on a gun rack on the back of the hummer.
The Hunter had arrived.