by Ashley Meira
“Can you wake him up?” Alex asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.
All right, as a general rule, I don’t touch people who’ve had to be subdued for assault, especially when they could turn into vicious animals that ate little women like myself as an appetizer, but I forced myself to make an exception this time.
His skin was clammy, his pulse strong under my fingertips. Shifters and werewolves tended to have faster heartbeats and higher temperatures in general, so I didn’t think this was anything bad. I let my touch linger a moment; I always found it fascinating to feel someone’s pulse. It was life, pure life, racing under his skin, pressing up to beat against mine. I closed my eyes and took a minute to enjoy the sensation before getting down to business.
I let out a jolt of electricity into his system, then another, stronger surge when he didn’t stir. His eyelids fluttered and I stepped back, well out of arm’s reach. A pair of deep brown eyes peered out between matted strands of hair. The clanging of chains rang out through the space as the shifter tested his bonds. When he lifted his head, I saw there was a chain wrapped around his neck, too. If he transformed, the orichalcum wouldn’t shatter, but his neck would. Smart. And grisly.
“You must have a hell of a hangover.” I scrunched my nose at how my voice bounced against the stone walls.
“You only get a hangover if you stop drinking.” His voice was deep and scratchy, like vintage whiskey and regret.
“Not a lot of alcohol in prison,” said Alex.
The shifter sniffed the air, looking us up and down. “You’re not from around here.”
“Neither are you,” said Alex.
“Closer than you are, kid.”
I looked him over while they laid them out and measured them. He looked tired, more tired than just one night of binge drinking and a beat down would cause. Based on the amount of stubble on his face, he hadn’t shaved in two, maybe three, days, and the bags under his eyes said he’d been awake twice that. There was a hollow quality to his eyes – haunted, like he had nothing left to lose.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Bite me.”
“Cute,” I said. “Is that foreign, or were your parents just quirky?”
“Half and half.”
“Why are you here?” Alex asked.
The man sneered and shook his head. “Because you people chained me up.”
Sullivan and Wright appeared in the doorway and walked over to us. Wright looked anxious, apparently he wasn’t fond of being near the disheveled shifter. Sullivan’s face was its same gargoyle stoniness.
“You’re chained up because you tried to kill the guards,” said Sullivan.
“Fuck the guards,” he spat, turning to glare at me. “And fuck you. All you hunters need to pay.”
Wright turned to Sullivan. “See? I told you, sir. He’s just another feral–”
“Feral?” The rattling chains became deafening in this acoustic dreamland as the shifter struggled in his bonds. His features were twisted in an, ironically, feral visage as he snarled at Wright. “Who are you calling feral, you junkless prick? Say it to my face instead of hiding behind your boss.”
Junkless prick. Apparently, we read from the same book of insults. Cool. I stepped forward to kneel near him again. “I’m here to catch whoever is murdering your people. That’s all. I just want to talk.”
He held my gaze, but it looked like he was a hundred miles away. When he spoke again, his voice was little more than a choked whisper. “Nice eyes. Honest.”
Of all the things I expected to hear, that wasn’t one of them. “Um, thank you. I got them from my mom.”
“Yeah? My son has my wife’s eyes. They’re the same color as yours, too,” he said, his face twisted up as if the very thought of his family pained him.
“Please, Morgan,” said Wright, “you’re wasting your time with this beast.”
“One more insult, you fat fuck, and I’ll rip your throat out,” the shifter snarled.
“And how do you plan on doing that?” Wright asked with a shit-eating grin. “Those chains are orichalcum. If you shift, your neck will snap like a twig.” He stepped forward and bent over, pressing his face in front of the shifter’s. From here, I could see the mask of hate he was wearing, his features twisted in a demonic sneer. It was such a difference from his usual polite and unassuming demeanor that I reeled back, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by our currently not-so-furry friend.
Wright’s words were quiet, but with the acoustics and my proximity, I was able to catch most of it. “Honestly, I hope you do snap, you stupid mongrel, just so I can watch you die.”
The shifter went wild after that, his eyes glowing red as his features pulled back into an animalistic mask. I had to exit the cell before the clanging deafened me. Damn it, Wright, I get you hate their kind, but give me a goddamn break. There’s some call for decorum. Sullivan ordered Wright out, and with great reticence, the right-hand man obeyed.
“My apologies, sir,” he said. “I just think–”
“Your opinion has been made quite clear,” I said, both annoyed at him and hoping my attitude would garner some positive feedback from the shifter. Maybe I was better at this politicking stuff than I thought (I wasn’t). “I think you should go.”
Affront splashed across Wright’s round face, but before he could reply, Sullivan spoke up. “She’s right. My apologies to you both. Wright was simply concerned with the security measures used to hold the prisoner – measures he can now see are quite satisfactory.” He gave Wright a sharp look. “We’re leaving.”
With their less than satisfying departure, our attention was drawn back to the shifter seated between us. He was going to be even harder to crack now that Wright had gotten his blood pressure up.
“Tell us about the murders,” said Alex, apparently channeling Robo-cop. I’d worry Sullivan infected him, but Alex was already similar to him in that regard. Okay, that was definitely not something I ever needed to realize. Ew. Ew, ew, ew. Never compare Alex to Sullivan again. Ew.
The shifter fixed his gaze on Alex, staring him down. “Fuck. You.”
Alex’s eyes narrowed and he clenched his jaw, but didn’t move. “Tom Wallace. He and a group of hunters disappeared in the forest a few days ago. Do you know what happened to them?”
“Why should I care about some piss poor–”
Alex surged forward and gripped the chain around the other man’s neck, lifting him up. “He is ten times the man you’ll ever be. All of them are, you son of a bitch. Now, I want some answers.”
The shifter just gave him a deprecating laugh. Alex swung his fist. A loud cracking sound signaled impact, but it wasn’t the shifter who groaned in pain. Alex stepped back, clutching his hand while the other man laughed even harder. I’d be more worried, but I was still upset with him. Besides, Alex should’ve known better. Hitting a shifter, even in their human form, was like ramming your fist into a concrete wall.
Pushing my annoyance with him aside, I stepped over and gingerly took hold of his wrist. A golden light shined around my hand, healing the damaged limb. Alex’s jaw was still tight enough to crack walnuts, the muscles in his neck bulging out with barely repressed rage. Or not repressed at all, since he did just punch the dude.
I wasn’t averse to more forceful forms of interrogation. I knew some people wouldn’t talk unless they were pushed past their limits, but that didn’t mean I liked it, and it sure as hell didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try using sugar before acid.
Once Alex was healed up, I placed a firm hand on his shoulder, silently telling him to back off. At least his behavior would make playing “good cop” easier. I knelt back in front of the shifter. “My name’s Morgan.”
He scoffed. “What, now you wanna play good cop?”
“It’s not like it’ll be hard after the other two,” I said.
Alex snorted behind me.
“Guess not.” He cracked his neck side to side as best he could
with the chains around him. “You’re wasting your time, though, girly. I’ve got nothing for ya.”
“Look, people get upset,” I said. “Sometimes, they drink and wake up in strange places. Maybe they’re surprised and just…lash out. Am I close?”
He looked away and didn’t say anything.
“No one from either tribe wants to meet with us,” I continued, rubbing my hands together. Now that the situation had defused a bit, my body was beginning to remember how cold it was down here. “We just want to find out who is committing these horrible murders and stop them. But we don’t have any information. If you know anything that could help us do that or find our friends–”
The shifter snorted, his shoulders shaking as he spat out a bitter laugh. “Your friends died screaming, just like they deserved.”
Alex pushed me aside and grabbed the man again. “You son of a bitch! What the hell did they ever do to you, huh? You sick fuck!”
“Alex!” I grabbed his shoulder and tried to pull him away. “Alex, stop. This isn’t the way.”
He elbowed me aside. “Get the hell off me.”
Gritting my teeth, I reached forward again, electricity crackling under my nails. He jolted as I touched him, his arm jerking up and releasing the shifter. I shoved him back and stood between them.
“Back. Off,” I said. He glared at me, and for a moment, I was worried he would actually attack me. I gave him the most earnest look I could muster. “Alex, please.”
His hands were clenched into fists as he brought them up. I tensed, magic flaring through me, before relaxing again when he simply crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall.
I turned back to the man. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for me,” Alex said.
“Don’t tell me how to speak to Sullivan,” I said, shooting him a glare over my shoulder.
“That’s completely different.”
“Hash your drama out somewhere else,” the shifter droned. “I’m in enough pain already.”
“We’re not leaving until you tell us what you know,” I said.
“I already did. Your ‘friends’–”
“How about your name?” I said. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Cheeky, aren’t you?” His lips tugged up into a small grin. “Marshall. My name is Marshall.”
“Nice to meet you, Marshall.”
“Mhm.”
“How do you know what happened to the hunters? Did you see them?”
“A little birdie told me. Well, not a birdie, but you get the gist.”
Swallowing, I asked, “Why were they killed?”
“Why not?”
I pursed my lips, tapping a finger against my knee. Okay, new tactic. “Tell me about your family.”
“Interrogator and shrink all in one. Aren’t I lucky?”
“You’re married. What’s your wife’s name?”
Marshall looked like he was about to be sick again, the haunted look in his eyes amplifying tenfold. “Karma.”
“Your wife’s name is Karma?”
“You–” he leaned towards me as best he could “–don’t get to talk about my wife. Karma is the reason your fucking piece of shit hunter friends are dead. Karma is the reason why all of you are going to get what’s coming to you. You want to stop these killings? You think I buy that? Fuck you. Lying to me won’t work. You can be as nice as you fucking want, play family shrink with me – even ask to see pictures of my kid. Whatever. I know what kind of monsters you are.” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Now, are we done here?”
7
My hair was in a tight braid down my back, making me look like a knockoff version of Lara Croft – or so I liked to think. A girl could dream. I had on a pair of jeans and brown hiking boots, along with a form-fitting green sweater. I’d call it camouflage, but the trees were barren, so I’ll call it “looking hella good” instead. Hey, I was stuck in the Town of Childhood Nightmares Past and having issues with my…um, Alex; dressing up – for lack of a better word – was the only thing making me feel good right now. My gun was holstered to my thigh, and I had the necklace Alex took from Tom’s apartment around my neck.
He’d gone off to get it while I went home to change. It was probably an attempt to get away from me for a while, but I’d be lying if I said the feeling wasn’t mutual. Unfortunately, I forgot to tell him it would be easier if he brought me some hair or something that had been, y’know, part of Tom’s body, but the handful of clipped words we’d exchanged upon exiting the prison weren’t exactly conducive to communication. Maybe Alex has been spending too much time with me, because he’s gotten my brooding down pat.
Whatever. I promised to find his friend – dead or alive – and I was going to do so. Besides, if he and his group were really dead, then at least we’d have a chance to find more clues. It was a callous way to think, but I wasn’t happy with the way Tom’s disappearance was making Alex act. Had I been so volatile when Lily was missing? Then again, maybe I just didn’t know Alex as well as I thought I did. I knew he was hurting, though, and no matter our differences, I felt sad for him. It didn’t give him the right to shove me or go off like that – nothing did – but I still wanted to ease his pain.
I wanted him back.
My tumultuous state of mind – and admittedly unwarranted bitterness towards Tom – made it impossible for me to glean any flashes of his last few memories. Luckily, I didn’t need to empathize to follow a magic path. The plain silver chain led us to the outskirts of town, past the walls, and into the forest.
Our silent standoff hadn’t allowed us to form a plan for what would happen if we ran into any hostile werewolves or shifters. Personally, I was hoping anyone we ran into would be friendly, but considering Marshall’s behavior, it was safer to say we were going to have to fight our way out. Not that I don’t enjoy getting mauled by giant supernatural animals, but– Oh wait, I don’t. I just hope they didn’t strike while I was distracted by my tracking spell.
We proceeded with caution, despite every step we took sounding like a cracking gunshot to my ears; if I could hear us walking, they certainly would. The forests were as bare as yesterday and the sunlight trying to fight through the thick clouds made everything look even more desolate than it had last night. The air was still, silent. It felt more like we were trekking through a graveyard than a forest.
I guess we were walking through both.
I tried to keep track of the path we took to make getting back home easier, but it was difficult to do so while following the spell. With the tracking spell in effect, the world around me blurred and a glimmering white path would appear in focus, leading me to the item’s owner. Effective, but very distracting – like tunnel vision times ten thousand.
Everything around me was washed out, and after memorizing a bit of the glimmering path, I stopped the spell with a heavy exhale. My foot hit a pebble, and I stumbled forward, scratching my hand on a nearby tree as I caught myself. I examined my hand carefully for splinters a.k.a. wooden demon spawn, and sighed in relief when I found none. There were some scrapes and a bit of blood, but that would heal momentarily.
“Are you okay?” Alex asked.
Despite our current distance, his concern made me feel fuzzy inside. “Yeah, just a scratch. I tripped over a rock – trekking through the woods isn’t something I’m used to.”
He licked his lips and nodded awkwardly. “Just…be careful.”
I nodded back, trying not to think about how much it hurt that he didn’t even want to touch me. Alex didn’t look winded as we moved on, but I felt like my lungs were about to burst from the cold and exertion. There weren’t a lot of places in cities you had to hike to on a regular basis, so it’s not like I ever had the chance (or the desire, honestly) to practice.
The farther we went, the quieter it seemed to get. It felt impossible – the woods had been silent since we entered them – but it felt like we had stepped into another world. The wind that picked up didn�
��t seem to affect the area around us at all, not even the brush shifted or rustled. I knew the forests around Dovesport were old, but this place felt positively ancient. Were we nearing the heart of the ley line?
We kept going west, per the path, leaves crunching under our feet as if we were titans treading over the earth. They were less sparse here for some reason, the dirt under us far more cluttered than it had been near the borders of these woods. All of a sudden, the glimmering path vanished with a puff of sparkles and dust, and the world came into focus on its own. The area didn’t look any different than the rest of the forest, but there was a strange current flowing under my feet. Magic.
“Alex, stop.”
He did, turning to me. “What is it?”
“Someone’s placed a spell around the preceding area. I can’t trace any further along this path.”
“What kind of spell?” he asked, coming to stand with me.
I took a second to appreciate his proximity before I knelt and placed my hand flat on the ground. The current thrummed. It pulsed underneath the earth, as if the land itself was alive. We were definitely near the ley line. Very near. My heart rate sped up from its influence, and I was sure if I looked in a mirror, my pupils would be fully dilated. The feeling was indescribable. Power. Joy. Calm. If I could get Wi-Fi out here, I’d move in a second, even if it meant being near Sullivan.
Farther ahead was magic of a different kind, its effects bolstered by its proximity to the ley line’s crux. It had to belong to one of the tribes, but I wasn’t familiar enough with either to identify which. I planned on spending a few days reading up on Garou and Protean when this was all over.
“A warding spell, I think,” I said. “To set boundaries and warn of intruders. It may have other effects, too. Unwanted ones, if the magic user doesn’t know how to handle casting so close to a ley line. I don’t know enough about either race’s magic to say more.”
“The ley line is here?”
