by Emery Skye
"Two guys came in here looking for you earlier," he tells me with shifty eyes and a bead of sweat drips off his lip. The teardrop-sized liquid falls from his lip to the bar.
I bring my eyes back to Rob's beady ones, exuding a nervousness that can be cut with a knife. Something's not right.
The phone in my back pocket vibrates with a text from Beth. Where are you?
I put the phone back in my pocket, feeling a mixture of guilt and fear. The residual effects of the feelings piquing my anxiety. The second my phone hits my back pocket another message comes in from Hunter WHERE ARE YOU!?
I balance my options; to tell or not to tell. My eyes shift left then right. Something is wrong. No, I don't want innocent Beth running into a bar, but I'm sure Hunter can handle it and so I tell him where I'm at and don't wait for a reply before placing the phone back in its place behind my left ass cheek.
"Who?"
He rubs his eyelids with his middle finger and thumb. The fear rolling off of him is palpable.
"Both bigger guys wearing nice-looking suits. Not somethin' you see ‘round here. One in his mid-to-late twenties and the other, mid-to-late thirties."
I nod. That's all he's got for me as per descriptions. Some people's investigative skills are seriously lacking.
Nonetheless, even with the small, tiny amount of information I've been given, I still feel sick. I try and ignore the faintness. Suits? Chase wore a suit in the video that Hunter showed me. Why would Chase show up at bar looking for me? There's no way he would know to look here. It's not like I was a degenerate poker player hanging out at bars when I was twelve.
"What'd they say?"
"The younger guy with short hair described you exactly and asked if I've seen you in here," he pauses and glances left, then right. "I told him I didn't know anything. The asshole grabbed my arm and pulled me over the bar like I was nothin' more than a fly. There was something wrong with him. No man should be that strong," he drifts away from the conversation and into the memory. The chill of fear races down my spine and numbs my toes. It had to have been Chase. There's no one else.
"What else?" I ask the shaking bartender.
He shakes his head as if removing the memory and the faraway look disappears.
"He told me that if I wanted to live, I would call the second I saw you walk in. That it wasn't worth my life," Rob tells me.
The icy chill turns to a force, drenching every inch of my body with fear that cuts deep.
I bring the glass up to my mouth only to be halted by the sharp intake of breath by the heavily strung out bartender. I glance downward at the water that's only inches from my lips and notice a swirling mixture of something dark swimming in the clear, porous fluid.
Yeah, that's not normal. The fear heightens. I let the glass go back to the thick, wooden counter and set it on a coaster. Suddenly, Rob dips down low behind the counter. My heart speeds up to an unbearable rhythm, matching a chaotic rock song. Things are about to get bad. Everything stiffens. I have no time to think.
"Did you make the call?" I ask him with a shaky voice. I already know the answer, like I know the sky is dark outside.
He glances down and my suspicions are confirmed.
One second I'm standing, planted firmly on my two feet by the end of the bar and the next, my body is thrown over the counter and colliding with black shelves holding a multitude of bottles that come crashing down around me. One bottle strikes the back of my head and my vision swims like a ripple in water.
The fetid alcohol mixture burns my nostrils as I inhale. Little starbursts collect in the center of my vision with the impact, but soon they dissolve. If Rob and I make it out of this, I'm kicking his ass!
I'm lying on the hard floor covered by non-slip mats. I'm sure my back will look like a purple and white checkerboard first thing tomorrow. My muscles pulsate with growing bruises.
A sharp pain shoots down my spine as I try and lift my head. My neck is stiffening up. Rob is huddled in the corner of the bar, holding his arms over his head with his eyes pinched shut in fear, maybe panic.
Explosions sound, like it's the Fourth of July. My heart beats against my breastbone with the force of a jackhammer; so hard that my sternum feels like it's about to snap like a toothpick.
I crawl to where Rob's cowered against the wall and wrap an arm around his shoulders, which feel bonier than they should. He flinches away. His frightened brown eyes bulge from his head. "It's okay, Rob," I coo like a momma bird. I glance around the place and spot the exit. "We'll go out the back." I coax, but he remains seated. I'm thinking about leaving the wiry little traitor, but decide against it.
"Rob, we have got to go! Like yesterday." Forget the whole frozen in fear bullshit. That doesn't work for me anymore. Finally, the scraggily guy nods his head and begins to crouch toward the exit.
He stops when the largest Horde I've ever seen, grabs him by the nape of his neck like he's a cat. The Horde lifts Rob’s body up. Rob screams out in pain as the color of his skin drains away. His screams morph into the excruciating sounds of a cat being skinned alive, but I can’t see what the Horde is doing other than holding him up. I grab the lone bottle of Svedka Vodka that managed to survive the fall and leap to my feet. The bottle collides with the back of the Horde’s head and he drops Rob, who falls into a heap by my feet. The bottle doesn't break like you always see in the movies, but it definitely gets the alien's attention.
Rob's skin, which was once stretched tightly across his bones and colored tan, is now charcoaled and bubbling up from his skull. His eyes are no longer brown, but red blotches from the broken blood vessels. It's as if he was burnt alive. I scream out as a gut-wrenching panic chills my bones.
It takes a split second until one very pissed off Horde turns a black pungent gaze on me. I shrink away.
"Alex--" he says, staring down at me.
I shake my head like a moron. "Nope, she went that way," I point my finger to the back door and the idiot actually looks in that direction.
I take the small time to run down the length of the back of the bar. I slip on the broken glass and alcohol and fall hard my side; something sharp rips through my skin like a knife through steak and I silently pray that it didn't cut too deep.
Damn my lack of coordination. I scuttle around, trying to organize and stiffen my linguine limbs. Shards of glass dig into the palms of my hands; the sensation of one million paper cuts flares through them. The pain barely registers with my mind. The smell of blood hardly makes it into my nose before I'm grabbed from behind. Large fingernails dip deep into the bicep of my arm and rip through my hoodie. I yelp in pain as my body is jerked around like I’m nothing more than a doll.
The Horde's fingers are like icicles on my skin. I have a second to sense the cold on my arm before I'm struck into the abyss that follows the inky, black eyes of the Horde. I'm falling like the speed of light into a freezing nothingness. The pain is excruciating.
My screams echo off the walls of my mind as if they're rubber. I've never felt so alone, so cold in here. I'm freezing to death. I'm screaming, but no one's answering. No one can hear me as my voice jumps off the walls of my mind. I don't want to die a death by frostbite.
I cry out again as the chill seeps deep into my bones down to my toes, causing each bone to splinter. I'm trapped under ice. Suffocating, wrapped in a cryonic state as I travel deeper into hell.
It's so cold; it's burning me alive.
I wonder if this is how death felt for my mom and dad. I wonder if I'll see them when I get where I'm going. Memories of being held by mom, reprimanded by dad for taking the car, roll through my mind like a movie wheel on rewind. With each memory, warmth enters my body. It travels up from my heart and into my mind, pushing the ice out.
When I think I can't take anymore, I'm as good as dead. The fingers around my arm release and I drop to the ground. A spitting pain races up my jawbone, I ignore it. The Horde releases a god-awful roar that I've never heard. I didn't know they were capable
of saying anything other than my name. I guess they are.
As he howls again, I reach my arm around. I'm trying to grab for anything that'll help me. I need a little help to get away from the cold, away from the pain, away from the soulless creature. I end up grabbing the knob of a cabinet and hoist my arm higher for the edge of the counter.
My achy muscles protest the movement and I groan as I fight the restraints on my body and struggle to break the ice still holding me captive.
Every muscle in my body tightens further when the howling stops. In that moment, everything stops. Not really stops, but slows down. The station playing a rock song, now emits static. The only other sounds are a drip, drip, drip coming from the faucet, accompanied by my haggard breathing. Somewhere behind me, there's one pissed off Horde who wants to kill me.
I make the decision to run with everything I have and get to the door that beckons me like a beacon of hope. I have to reach the door; I'll worry about the rest when I make it there.
I vaguely notice that everyone in the bar is passed out on the floor.
I run, pumping my slender arms and legs with all the power my body has to offer, until I'm out the front door. I ignore the sharp pain radiating down my spine and into my leg.
I crash into one very angry looking Hunter and rebound off him. His steely blue eyes are angry, but welcoming. I want to jump in and away from this nightmare I'm living in.
"Lex, what happened? Breathe, just breathe. I'm here. I won't let anything happen to you," he declares with such strength and determination, I relax in his arms. Maybe it's his presence that makes me relax, maybe it's an adrenaline crash. It's probably both.
"Ugh...ugh...ugh..." I stutter, trying to slow my racing heart. "Horde," I finally say as he grips the tops of my arms. Being close to him, is like being home.
"Kill...ki...Rob!" I cry out.
Hunter glances over my head and pulls me behind him.
"How many?"
"I," I'm trying to think. I only saw the one, but that can't be right. All those people...My heart drops at the thought of so many people getting hurt and for what?
"Lexi, let's go. We gotta get out of here. The two windows to Rabby's bar blow out, shards of glass shoot like darts. Hunter turns us both around and shields me with his body. The warming buzz under my skin comforts me for a split second before my consciousness and panic kick in overdrive. I scream, but my throat burns with the effort.
A low growl emanates from Hunter, who's holding me in his arms. After the glass falls around us, he pulls us both up and out of the crouching position and takes my arm, causing my side to cry in agony. The skin tears a little more. The meat on my bones offers no more insulation before the glass reaches the vital organs below it.
The pain pulses around my right side near my back and I'm fairly certain I've cracked some ribs, as well. I squeal at the stinging sensation.
Hunter pivots; his piercing, blue eyes staring intently at the area where I felt pain. His frown deepens. My worry heightens at his response.
Without any time to object, I'm swept into his arms and he cradles me close to his body. I welcome the warmth that radiates off him and bury my face into his chest, basking in the smell of mint and evergreens.
I'm jostled around as he runs. "Stay with me, Lex.”
I want to tell him to calm down. It's a couple bones and some cuts, but my breathing is too labored. The painful area in my back has taken on an itchy sensation that shoots into the front of my chest. I reach to itch my chest not knowing what this feeling is.
Hunter grabs my hand and says, "Slow breaths, Lexi."
He sets me gently into the seat. Why is he being so gentle with me? Last time we were caught in this predicament, he threw me into the car. This is different. This is scary. His fear, his worry fuels my own.
He's on his phone. I can't hear what he's saying. I'm struggling to catch my breath. Every inhale is accompanied by a crackling. The more I breathe, the more tired I become. What is this? Why can't I breathe? Oh, God. I can't breathe!
"Hunt...er," I cry.
"It's okay, Lex. Calm your breathing," he tells me, like it's the simplest thing.
"Can't...breat...he," I object. If I could breath, maybe I could calm my breath as he so eloquently tells me.
He takes my hand that was moments before clutching my chest and holds it. His palm is warm, but not sweaty and clammy like mine.
"It's okay, Lex. You're okay." My panic dwindles, my fatigue increases and my head rolls to the side like a bowling ball on my shoulders. Hunter says my name as I pass into a black void.
TWENTY-NINE
"Guid morn, wee Flicka." I peel my eyelids open. Even my eye muscles ache. I attempt to stretch my muscles in a deep-cat stretch, taking inventory of the pain and find, thankfully, even though my body is deeply aching, it’s void of the shooting pains.
I survey the small room I'm sitting in and take in the likes of a rustic cabin. The bed I'm lying on is layered with quilt after quilt after quilt, like a five-cheese pizza from Pizza Hut. The cabin is both warm and cozy, something I was not at all expecting from the man sitting near me.
What did he say? Where the heck did Hunter go? Last thing I remember, I was in Hunter's Land Rover struggling to breathe after being attacked by the most giant horde I've ever seen.
"Hunter," I struggle to say and the air burns my throat.
"Noo, noo, Flicka. Ye bide thaur. There's still some healin' tae be dain," he tells me and reaches for my shoulders.
I jerk away bang my head against the wooden headboard.
I curse the world. How did my life suddenly end up so complicated?
"Who are you?" I ask, shooting arrows with my eyes at the old ginger. Yeah, that'll show him. Don't mess with me.
"Mah nam is Allen," he says, bearing teeth in a crooked smile that would make children run the other direction.
"Okay," I drawl out.
I'm about to ask where the heck Hunter is, when Hunter stumbles through the door. He has a younger ginger with curlier locks wrapped in his arms in an uncomfortable headlock.
"Lex," he smiles wide. He releases the boy. "You're awake," his dimples makes my tender stomach somersault.
I try and smile back, although I'm sure that with the state I'm in, it looks more like a grimace.
The cabin drifts away and so do the two gingers as Hunter and I stare at each other in a way that should be illegal in public.
"Flicka is daein' much better. Although, she did most ay th' healin' aw oan 'er ain," Allen says, interrupting the awkward silence. He’s tilting his head left and right as if inspecting me, like I'm a puzzle he can't figure out.
"Thank you, Allen," Hunter says with genuine sincerity.
"Did Hunter Daniels jist say thenk ye? Oh mah, kimers an' gentlemen. Tak' a picture these sorts rarely happen!" hollers the boy with wild, red hair and a freckly face. He uses an announcer's voice and with the mix of his Scottish accent, at least that's what I've decided it is, it’s staggeringly hilarious. A chuckle kicks up from my abdomen, but it hurts to laugh and I end up wincing.
"Shut up, Duffy," growls Hunter and shoves the thinner boy into the stove, causing various pots and pans to crash to the ground.
I prepare myself for the sound of metal against the tile floors in the kitchenette, but it never comes. The pots stop mid-air and quickly return to their place on the stove. I jump in place. The pain in my chest flares, but not enough to relieve the totally freaked out feeling of watching pans fly.
"Lexi, I can explain," Hunter says calmly, airing caution.
I open my mouth to, I don't know, scream or talk or argue or something, but nothing comes.
Duffy strolls up casually and I scuttle even further into the wood headboard, if that's possible.
"What the fuck!" I finally say with an air of accusation.
Duffy peeks back at Hunter and Hunter returns a slight nod, causing the messy, black waves of hair to fall into his eyes.
Duffy’s staring at me
with warm, brown eyes. His eyes remind me of hot cocoa— the milk chocolate kind.
I pull the quilt up higher, clutching it painfully with my fingers.
"Aam Duffy, a mukker ay Hunter's," I look at him perplexed at his word choice and Hunter takes my look as confusion, not of fear.
"Friend," Hunter translates from across the room. He’s leaning against a counter with his legs crossed.
"Aye," Duffy nods. "Friend," he smiles.
Well, that's good news. I guess since they're friends, he won't be murdering me. At least, I hope he won't. The way Allen stares at me begs to differ with that rationale.
"Hunter brooght ye here coz ye waur injured bad. Loch ye looked loch death," the grimace on his face is almost comical and under other circumstances, I’d probably laugh. "He tells me ye know a wee bit abit th' supernatural community," I nod, wondering where this is going. He bears more teeth and I brace myself for what he's about to tell me. "Well, Flicka, I'm a Mage-Hybrid," he says proudly. My head spins.
My stomach is empty of its contents, so this head spinning won't end in a terrible gut-wrenching display.
My brows rise into my hairline.
"A what?"
"A hocus pocus wizard," Hunter jests. The young wizard faces him with scrunched features. Allen makes a crusty noise at the younger boys.
Hunter chuckles in response.
"I'll turn ye intae a disgustin' toad. Watch it," he flicks his pinky toward Hunter, who grabs a metal pot from off the stove and uses it to shield his face. They're busy screwing around and joking, and my heart feels like it's about to leap out of my chest.
Then again, maybe it's their light-heartedness that's preventing me from screaming like a banshee.
"This haur is mah brither, Allen," he gestures toward Allen. Allen’s sporting a very fashionable red beard on his gray face.
"You're a wizard..." he cocks a brow, so I continue "like in Harry Potter?" I ask, completely dumbfounded and not exactly believing what I've heard. Then again, I'd be stupid to believe that magic doesn't exist after everything I've seen already.
