by Hunter Blain
“Jonathan. But my friends call me Depweg.”
“Why do they do that?” Meli asked somewhat harshly.
“It’s a military thing that just stuck.”
Depweg brought the mixing bowl of cooked beef and placed it at the center of the table. As he pulled out the only remaining chair of the mismatched set, Meli snapped her fingers a few times, snatching Depweg’s attention.
Pointing toward one of the cabinets, Meli strongly suggested, “Bowls? Maybe a spoon or fork? Or do we just use our hands?”
“S-sorry,” Depweg stammered before getting the requested dinnerware and utensils.
Once there were three bowls and spoons on the table which only had two chairs, Depweg tentatively sat down, reaching a spoon into the bowl.
Meli feigned a gasp before lamenting, “Excuse me?! What ever happened to ladies first?”
Depweg’s confused face began melting into one of agitation as the wolf growled in warning within his head. Meli could sense a change, and further narrowed her already scowling eyes as the weres measured one another.
Depweg spoke in a tone that was meant to be soft but came across as a harsh whisper through nearly gritted teeth. “I am hurt, bad, and I need to eat right now. You can ask me any question you want, but after I’ve had my fill.” Depweg leaned forward, his face tilted down enough that he peered through his eyebrows at the stoic werecat before him. “Does that sound fair to you?”
To her credit, Meli didn’t balk at the show of aggression and instead remained still.
Depweg took that as a sign of acquiescence and began piling meat into his bowl. Juices dripped onto the small table between spoonfuls.
Even though the two alphas were in the midst of a silent war of attrition, Depweg considered it rude to leave a mess he had made, even unintentionally. But instead of getting up to retrieve a napkin—or whatever they had for such instances—Depweg chose to drag his fingers over the surface, licking the juices from his healing skin.
Meli seemed to pick up on the politeness of the gesture—even if demonstrated in an aggressive manner—and chose to stand up and retrieve a damp dish towel that hung from the handle of the stove.
First folding and then setting the towel next to the bowl that sat at the center of the table, Meli returned to her seat and grabbed her own helping of freshly cooked meat.
Both parties saw that Depweg’s bowl had a few more scoops of food, leaving a noticeable difference in the portions between the two.
Already shoving a heaping spoonful into his mouth, Depweg seemed to notice the disparity of otherwise identical bowls, and slowly began pushing his forward. The glass ground over the surface of the table, nearly matching the volume of the cooking meat over the stovetop.
Meli held up a hand in a polite decline, her face expressing an appreciation at being considered.
The bowl once again ground against the table to return to the edge, just under Depweg’s chewing mouth. He made sure his lips were sealed when eating as to not appear rude.
Tiffany walked over with the sizzling pan and scooped the entire contents into the mixing bowl. She then turned and walked the few paces to the kitchen sink, where she nonchalantly dropped the cookware into the basin. Both Meli and Depweg cringed at the sound that suggested careless indifference.
Tiffany returned with a relaxed smile and began filling her own bowl.
“Oh, here,” Depweg encouraged as he stood up from his seat and moved to lean against the wall while holding his nearly empty bowl.
“Why thank you, good sir!” Tiffany cooed, noticeably blushing as she tried to hide the pleasure on her face.
Meli’s eyes flicked between the two, and understanding dawned across her features.
Depweg didn’t notice any of this as he waited for Tiffany to grab her share before filling his bowl back up, making sure to leave a respectable amount for whomever wanted more.
“Fill it,” Meli insisted. “Your skin is healing nicely, but you need more.”
Both Tiffany and Depweg looked at his body, taking in how smooth the recently puckered flesh had become. He was pink all over, like he was suffering from a fresh sunburn that was particularly bad, but the trio knew he would be fine sooner rather than later.
“Thanks,” Depweg said as he grabbed the rest of the meat, scraping the white mixing bowl until it was nearly clean minus the streaks left from the fat.
“So how did you know my name? I assume by Tiff’s expression that she didn’t tell you.”
To accentuate the point, Tiffany shook her head while trying to chew modest portions of her food. Meli seemed to notice, and gestured with her head and eyes, Why are you acting weird?
In answer, Tiffany covered her mouth as she continued to chew, letting her nervous gaze drop to the table as her face once again flushed.
Depweg could sense the tension, and quickly answered the question. “As I explained to, ah, Tiff, here”—Tiffany almost seemed to giggle at her nickname being used—“I come from the future. Which, believe me, is weirder for me to say than it is for you to hear.”
Meli’s eyes narrowed for a moment in contemplation as she regarded the stranger in her house.
Understanding her position, Depweg quickly added, “Look, it would save us all a lot of time if you just believed me, so let me cut to the chase: you are a werecat, have a brother named Ben, and just helped my friends and me save the entire world from an ambush set up by warlocks…and…other things.” Depweg intentionally left out the part about godlike were-pires, though he didn’t exactly know why. Perhaps it was because his story was already fanciful enough while only focusing on a time-traveling werewolf.
At the mention of her brother, Depweg noticed Meli’s entire demeanor morph into one of stifled fuming. The conversation with Tiff about Meli’s brother moving out came to mind, and Depweg understood that it might be best to swiftly move the subject matter along.
Meli’s face started to grow maroon with building rage, prompting Depweg to throw out, “You like bows and are good with guns because your dad used to take you hunting. You told me so yourself. I…I’ve only known you for a day, but trust me when I say that we are on the same side.”
“Wait,” Tiffany interjected, shaking her head in confusion before turning to Meli. “You’re a werecat?”
Thank God for Tiffany, Depweg mentally mused, noticing Meli’s indignance at having her brother mentioned by a stranger be suffocated, like placing the lid on a still burning candle.
“Never said I wasn’t,” Meli asserted with a tilt of her head.
Tiffany was struck by the statement that doubled down on her intentionally deceptive description of herself.
Seeing the tension between the werewolf and werecat, Depweg threw out, “She doesn’t shift.”
Meli threw her intense gaze to Depweg while Tiffany struggled with the meaning behind the words.
“I don’t underst—” Tiffany began before Meli interrupted.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“She’s right. In the future, there’s only a handful of weres left…of all types. It’s important that we all stick together to fight…”—Depweg took in a deep breath, realizing that he had just been given the gift of time—“…to fight what’s coming.”
“What’s coming?” Tiffany asked, trying to clarify the choice of words rather than the meaning.
“What’s coming, Depweg?” Meli piggybacked on Tiff’s question, leaning forward in her chair.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
The air grew still as the scent of meat faded and only the sound of Depweg’s chilling words filled the silence. The story of John versus the Devil caused a balloon of existential fear to bubble at the core of all who heard it.
11
Locke - The In-Between
“It’s just this way,” Locke said over his shoulders to Ben and Meli.
“You have your own secret doorway or something?” Meli asked.
&
nbsp; “It’s not really a secret, per se” Locke explained before whispering, “And I can’t believe I just said per se.”
“I don’t know. Seems pretty on point for a wizard, wouldn’t you per say?” Meli quipped. Locke glanced over his shoulder and could see her covering a grin with a fist.
“Anyway,” Locke continued, dismissing the comment. “We are afforded private dormitories—”
“Aren’t you a noob?” Meli interrupted.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did the middle of my sentence interrupt the beginning of yours?”
“Well, excuuuuse me.”
“If I may continue…” Locke waited for further commentary. When silence signified that he should press on, Locke said, “The Council isn’t as strong as it once was. The other side has been two steps ahead and recruiting from the limited talent pool on Earth before they even show up on our radar.”
“You’re saying wizards have to be born? Like Harry Potter rules?” Meli asked. Locke took note that Ben let his sister do most of their talking.
“Yes and no,” Locke explained. “Being born with a natural attunement to elemental magic vastly aides in a mortal transitioning into a wizard…or a warlock.”
“What’s the difference?”
The trio made their way toward a door near the end of a hallway that resembled an Ivy League college dormitory, or maybe a high-end hotel. Elegant sconces of soft white light hung on wooden pillars that snaked up one wall, the ceiling, and then met the floor on the other side. Every twelve feet or so were thick beams that probably served both as structural support as well as adding class to the decor.
Arriving at his room, Locke waved his hand near the bronze handle, and an audible click signaled the wizard had unlocked it. Stepping into his modest room, Locke gestured that the siblings should follow him.
“The difference between the magical classes is considerably vaster than video games and movies would have you think,” Locke said as he turned to face the werecats.
With another wave of his hand, the door shut behind Ben, and another click sounded as the latch locked.
“Everyone has it within them to harness elemental magic. Mortals do it all the time without realizing it. Whenever someone meditates their disease away or a hiker gets lost in the desert and somehow walks countless miles to safety in the blazing sun or a skydiver’s parachute doesn’t open yet he miraculously survives the fall. All of these people pull from the magic that surrounds us.” As he spoke, Locke let his hands dance in a slow circle in front of him as wavering energy wafted and pulsed. “The person who meditates can use minute amounts of raw power to attack foreign or cancerous cells within their own body. The hiker—using only their sheer will to live—can pull what little moisture there is from the air into themselves.”
“And the skydiver?” Meli asked dubiously.
Locke picked up a pen that was resting on a yellow notepad and dropped it. Just before the pen hit the floor, it slowed and then stopped, hovering inches above the ground.
“A cushion of air,” Locke explained before flicking his outstretched hand upward, making the pen jump up and into his grasp as if on a string.
Returning the pen to the yellow pad, he rested his hip on the edge of his desk and continued.
“Most magically inclined supes are leaps and bounds beyond that, of course. Much like someone who dabbles in drawing really cannot be compared to DaVinci, the same could and should be said about those with a magical inclination and supes.”
“Right. And, I ask again, what is the difference between wizards and warlocks?”
“Wizards learn their abilities with teachers and texts—”
“Like Harry Potter.”
“Fine. If it’ll help keep this conversation moving forward, then yes, like Harry Potter. We have to practice and hone our abilities much like, say, an Olympian.”
“Mighty egotistical of you.”
Locke hissed out a sigh before rubbing his temples with both hands.
“I use that metaphor specifically.”
“Simile,” Meli corrected.
Locke’s frustration melted in an instant as a new thought entered his head.
“I think it’s a great idea for you to move in. Especially now that John is done with his mission of hunting all the remaining warlocks down and will be home a lot more.”
Meli slightly rocked her head as her neck extended forward in a sassy gesture that said what does that mean?
“You and John will get to spend lots of time together, heh,” Locke said with a genuine smile. “I’ll make sure to stock plenty of popcorn for when you two try to have simple conversations.”
“Oh, I was giving you the benefit of the doubt that the conversation regarding the subclasses of magically inclined supes was more than a simple conversation, but I guess I was wrong.”
Locke’s smile faded as annoyance built back up, morphing his mouth into a frown.
Ben stifled a laugh as he pretended to look at something on the wall.
“So, like I was saying,” Locke continued flatly, “if you have an Olympian, someone who is at the top of their game across the entire planet, and you put them into a completely different category…well, it’s safe to assume they won’t perform at the level they are accustomed to.”
“O…kay?”
“Ah, right,” Locke breathed out, running a hand down his face. “Got a little ahead of myself. Um…” He thought for a few moments. “Okay, we train like Olympians, is what I meant. The highest quality of coaches and training facilities mixed with dedication to our craft.”
“Right…Harry Po—”
“Stop saying that!” Locke shrieked. “That’s seriously like me waving catnip in your face and taunting you!”
Ben had to turn his back toward Locke to hide his silent mirth, but his bouncing shoulders gave him away. In response, Meli shot her brother an irked expression and backhanded his arm.
“Warlocks, on the other hand,” Locke shifted topics with an increased inflection in his voice, signaling the comparison to the fictional wizarding world was over. (Just like a Slytherin, amiright?) “Warlocks receive their abilities directly from Hell itself by exchanging their very souls for immense power, only to realize too late that they have become slaves to the whims of the Dark Lord.”
“That’s a Harry Potter reference,” Meli pointed out.
Locke didn’t react. Instead, cold eyes regarded Meli with a stone face that conveyed a deadly serious expression.
After his point was made, the ex-warlock continued.
“Warlocks used to be targeted by extreme situations, such as great losses that created dark feelings of resentment. A man who had his livelihood taken away and was left to feel helpless to it would have been a perfect target for Hell, as long as he demonstrated an attunement to elemental magic.”
“If they are just given powers, why does it matter if they can do the minor stuff?” Meli asked, growing more intrigued as the conversation flowed.
“Magic is dangerous,” Locke remarked before an idea came to him. “Would you not agree that not just anyone is able to become a shifter? And I’m not just talking about surviving the change, as I am aware most do not. Instead, I’m asking about those with a heart full of darkness; would they have compunctions about using their Lycan abilities for their own ends…no matter who they hurt in the process?”
Meli’s gaze dropped to the floor as she slowly nodded in understanding and agreement.
“As supernatural apex predators, I can only imagine how difficult it is to restrain yourselves. I mean, I already get pissed if someone cuts me off in traffic or bumps into me when I’m standing still and then has the audacity to say something like watch it as if it were my fault. And don’t get me started on people who stand up immediately when the plane lands and try to walk up the aisle before anyone else can even unbuckle their seat belt. They always get stopped halfway when others start to stand, and then they pout and mean-mug the other passengers like everyone else is the p
roblem and not them. They mess up the whole unloading dynamic because of their greed.”
“What if they have a connecting flight and the first plane was late?” Meli asked with a playful smile that didn’t touch her eyes.
“I don’t want to get into the specifics of this particular litmus test example. Besides, if they simply said ‘Excuse me, I’m late for my connecting flight,’ I think people would accommodate them.”
“You mean you would like to think that people would accommodate them. The litmus test can swing both ways. All it would take is one of the passengers to ignore the person and not move, pretending to not hear the request.”
“We are all the center of our own universe,” Locke breathed out, conceding to Meli’s point. “But to get back on track. Magic is dangerous, and it is better to gift powers to someone who can control them, even just subconsciously. Before John was thrown into the middle of this…this prophecy, it behooved all supes to stay under the mortals radar.”
Ben spoke up then.
“Is that why there are so few wizards left? Hell got to the recruits first?”
“Something like that.” Locke sighed, not wanting to dive too deep into that particular subject. Bending down next to the desk he was leaning on, Locke opened a mini fridge and pulled out a cold bottle of water. He extended it first to Meli, who politely declined, and then to Ben, who eagerly grabbed the ice-cold drink.
Grabbing a bottle for himself, Locke let his fridge close before twisting the top off his water and taking a few refreshing swigs.
Sensing Locke’s desire to change the topic, Meli asked, “What about mages?”
“Ah,” Locke let out, giving Meli a knowing glance of appreciation while twisting the cap back on his bottle. “Mages solely utilize elemental magic, but to a level comparable with wizards.”
“Like Aang?” Meli asked with awe in her voice.
“Who?”
“You know. The Last Airbender.”
“It’s an anime show,” Ben explained.
“It’s much more than that,” Meli exclaimed. Before she could go off on a tangent, Ben elaborated.
