by Megan Morgan
She took the fresh beer he offered. “She never talked much about them, or him. It seems I was illegitimate and his family didn’t know about me. That’s what my grandmother implied, anyway. He and my mother had a whirlwind romance.”
“You said he died in an accident?”
She nodded. “When I was a baby. I don’t know much about it.”
“Seems a crazy thing, you have a family out there you don’t even know about.”
“Maybe I should look them up someday.”
Deacon filled most of the island countertop with plates and bowls. Lorena marveled at it all. He slapped down a giant plate of meat, still sizzling.
“This here’s the finest squirrel you ever had,” he said. “Fresh off the road.”
She arched an eyebrow.
He chuckled. “It’s beef.”
“You think I consider you a backwoods hick, don’t you?”
“I am a backwoods hick.” He dragged a stool up adjacent to hers. Clem whined and Deacon shushed him. “You behave yourself and mind your manners, and I might just drop something. Don’t make a fuss in front of the lady.”
Lorena smiled down at him. “Don’t worry, Clem. I might just drop something, too.”
Lorena couldn’t decide where to start. Deacon grabbed a plate and loaded it up for her, explaining each item as he heaped it on. He called the thick slices of bread ‘cornpone.’ The beef was juicy thick-cut steak. He’d made cat head biscuits—huge fluffy biscuits, which, true to their name, looked like cat heads. He dolloped gravy on the side “for sopping.” He’d also made butter beans and collard greens, and there were watermelon pickles and beer cheese. He’d cooked enough food to feed an army.
“I coulda made some frog legs or catfish.” He handed her the heaping plate. “But I wanted to start you off easy.”
“How long have you been cooking today?” She took the plate and set it down in front of her. “This is so much food!”
He loaded up his own plate. “Just a few hours, it don’t take that long. And don’t worry, what we can’t eat won’t go to waste. Jack and Zeke will be around to vacuum up the leftovers tomorrow. You’d swear their wives don’t cook at all.”
“You sure know how to impress a woman.”
“I thought I was doing that last night.”
She smirked and picked up her fork.
“You impressed me with your shooting skills,” he said, “and then again this morning. It’s my go, now.”
The food was delicious and she made sure to express her compliments with each new item she tried. Clem lay between their stools and watched for any sign of slippage. For a while, they didn’t talk much, as Lorena wanted to keep stuffing her face; finally, she managed to slow down enough to start a conversation.
“So there’s lots of witches around here?” she asked.
“Always been a lot of witchery in the mountains. Of course, there’s different kinds of witchery. I reckon you know that.”
“Yes, but I have to admit, my education is purely textbook.”
“Well, I mean, there’s the usual kind.” He stabbed at the meat on his plate. “The kind my Grammy is, the kind most witches around here are. They got a good knowledge of herbs and healing. There’s also the kind that controls nature, more or less. Fire and the wind, and even the rain.”
“Elemental witches. They’re extremely rare. It supposedly takes a lot of power to do what they do.”
“I’ve never met one, only heard things.” He kept poking around on his plate. “There’s also the kind that communicate with animals, instead of just trees and plants.” He looked down at Clem, who lifted his head expectantly. “I expect most they’d have to say is ‘gimmie some of that grub.’”
“I’ve read about those witches, too. I think all witch powers stem from the same condition, some aspects just present more strongly in individual witches. The kind your grandmother has—the kind I have, apparently—is the most common. I think because it’s the least complicated.”
Deacon tossed a piece of meat on the floor. Clem leapt to his feet and gobbled it up.
“There’s a legend about witches that can talk to animals,” Deacon said. “It’s in the Lycan code.”
“Do tell.”
“They say witches that can talk to animals can talk to Wolvites. Supposedly, they ain’t just dumb monsters. A witch can have an intelligent conversation with them.”
She tilted her head. “I don’t know about that. Even ones in captivity present no more intelligence than a dog.” She looked down at Clem. “Sorry, buddy.”
“I know. But if it’s true they come from Lycans, maybe sometime in the past they were still sorta human.”
She resumed eating, rather than argue science with him.
“I’ve heard,” Deacon said, “back in the olden days, witches would talk to the Wolvites and make truces.”
“Ah, so that’s why Lycans and witches should be together. So they can stop the Wolvites.”
“One of the reasons.” He took a bite.
Clem whined. Lorena nudged a piece of meat off her plate and over the edge of the counter, since Deacon had set a precedent. Clem pounced on it.
“I never met no witch that could talk to animals, though,” Deacon said. “Or ones that could control elements. Only the kind that make potions and listen to the trees. I expect the ultimate witch could do all them things.”
“I bet they could. I’ve never heard of an ‘ultimate witch,’ though.”
They fell into silence and worked on their food. Clem seemed satisfied for the moment and loped off to drink from his water dish in the corner.
“There ever been a male witch?” Deacon asked. “When you said ‘she’ there, I thought about it.”
“Maybe. We’re still figuring out the genetics of it. We know Lycanism is only in males because it’s carried on the Y chromosome, but there doesn’t seem to be any indicator of that in witches. It’s just an overwhelmingly female trait.” She tapped her fork on her plate. “I see how that works for your code. Lycans are always males and witches are apparently always female. Of course, they must be destined for each other. What a great love story.”
He chuckled. “I think my Mama’s brother would take exception to that. His husband’s a Lycan, and my uncle sure ain’t a witch.”
Lorena raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t realize you had gay people in Kentucky.”
Deacon laughed.
“I’m sorry, I’ll quit making hillbilly jokes. Obviously, there’s a lot of progressive, intelligent people around here and you’re definitely one of them. Stereotypes are an awful thing.”
“You know, you can be a hillbilly and be smart and open-minded.”
“Just like you can be a city chick and know your way around a gun and a pickup truck.”
He smirked. “Amen.”
Lorena ate until she physically couldn’t anymore. Deacon then had the audacity to announce he’d also made dessert.
She groaned. “Can we wait a bit?” She patted her stomach. “I don’t think it would be very ladylike of me to explode all over your kitchen.”
“I’ll make some coffee. Then maybe we can watch a movie and let things settle.”
While he cleared the island and put things away, Lorena sat in her food coma and finished her beer. Clem followed Deacon around. The night was windy, the air whistling outside the windows. The gusts had rocked her truck on the way over.
So, she didn’t start too badly when a bang sounded out back. Clem skittered toward the back porch, barking.
“Ah, darn it.” Deacon stood at the sink. “I thought I had everything tied down.”
Clem barked again.
“Hush up!” Deacon wiped his hands on a towel and strode after him. “It’s just the trash can. Reckon I better go weight it down. You wanna meet me in the living room? Go on and get comfortable.”
She hauled herself off the stool. She resisted undoing her pants, as that was unladylike too—and might give Deacon the wron
g idea. She wouldn’t mind getting friendly later, but right now she had too much food in her.
She walked down the hallway toward the living room, but suddenly stopped. A powerful sensation crashed over her, a wave of darkness and dread.
She rushed back to the kitchen and out on the porch. Deacon stood by a screen door, his hand on the knob. Clem was hunkered down behind him, growling.
“Don’t open that,” she gasped. “There’s something out there!”
“What do you—”
Something big and hairy hit the door. Lorena shrieked and Deacon lurched back. Clem flew into a frenzy.
The Wolvite outside the door snarled and sank its claws into the screen, ripping it.
“Get in the house!” Deacon snatched a shotgun off the wall.
Lorena stumbled into the kitchen. Deacon lifted his gun and the Wolvite jumped off the door, leaving two gaping holes in the screen. Clem continued to freak out, barking and lunging at the door.
Deacon pushed the barrel of the gun through one of the holes in the screen. Lorena ran through the house to the living room, where her jacket hung on a chair. She yanked her gun out of the pocket and ran back to the porch.
“Holy shit,” Deacon said. “Come look at this.”
Cautiously, gun held in both hands and pointed downward, she crept out on the porch. She positioned herself where she could see out the door and widened her eyes at the sight that greeted her.
A concrete patio extended about fifty feet from the door. The porch light illuminated it and a patch of the yard beyond. At the edge of the light, multiple Wolvites lurked. She counted five, skulking back and forth, low to the ground, their golden eyes gleaming.
“What the hell?” she gasped.
“I’m gonna try to pick a few of them off.” Deacon’s words were a warning.
She grabbed Clem by the collar. Though the dog struggled and was heavy, she dragged him into the kitchen. Holding him, she protected one of her ears with her hand and pressed her other ear to her shoulder.
The shots still rattled her eardrums. Clem yelped and jerked away. He took off into the house.
Deacon lowered the gun and gazed out the damaged screen door. She rose, her gun at the ready again.
“I think I got one, maybe two,” he said. “The rest are on the run.”
A sharp metallic smell and a haze hung on the air. He kicked aside shell casings as he walked into the kitchen. He closed the inside door, and locked it.
“What the hell was that?” She followed him to the kitchen window. “Wolvites don’t attack houses. That’s insane.”
“You think it could be a symptom of rabies?”
“Rabies would make them crazy. What they did just now seemed almost…calculated.”
“How’d you know they were out there?”
She swallowed. “I don’t know. I just got this feeling. I knew something was outside. It must have been my powers.”
“Well, I’m damn glad I had a witch by my side tonight.”
She eased her grip on the gun. He had his propped on his shoulder. She stood tense, waiting for something to leap through the window.
“I better call Zeke and Jack,” Deacon said. “We got us a situation.”
“I better call Holden, too.”
Chapter 7
Lorena and Holden stood on the front steps of Deacon’s house, the night thick and ominous around them. She didn’t sense any danger, though. Not that she might ever be able to do that again in a million years. Deacon and Jack dragged two tarps through the yard, toward Lorena and Holden’s truck. Zeke followed his cousins, a shotgun on his shoulder.
“This is unfortunate,” Holden said. “But if the Wolvites are rabid, these specimens will tell us all we need to know.”
Deacon picked up his tarp and heaved it into the bed of the truck, single-armed.
“Attacking people in their houses,” Holden continued. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Definitely mad behavior.”
“But ganging up to do it?” She gazed at Deacon. “If they’re rabid, why are they working together? Why aren’t they attacking each other, too? This almost seemed planned, like they were luring him out. It was precise and calculated behavior.”
“I don’t think they’re that intelligent. They know bloodlust and little else.”
Jack heaved his load into the truck as well. He and Deacon slammed the tailgate shut.
The three men walked over to the porch.
“We gotta do something,” Jack said. “Right now. We gotta warn people what’s going on. If they’re attacking people in their houses, we got us a big problem.”
“We’ll contact the agency as soon as we get back to the house,” Holden said. “We’re going to inform them what’s happened and ask for instructions.”
“That ain’t good enough!” Jack glared at him. “Hell, if we gotta go door-to-door warning people, that’s what we’ll do. Don’t matter if we stay inside after dark, they’re ripping their way through our doors now.”
“A screen door,” Lorena said. “Everyone needs to stay inside and lock all doors and windows.”
“So tell them!”
“What do you want me to do?” She walked down the steps to him. “Do you want me to ride through the streets announcing it on a bullhorn? Call everybody? If you want to go door-to-door, do it. But stop browbeating me for something I can’t physically accomplish. I can’t send everyone an instant psychic message.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Deacon smirk.
“We should probably have a meeting or something.” Zeke shrugged.
“How many people live in this town?” Lorena turned to him. “Two thousand plus? And what about in the outlying areas? It’s not easy to round up fifty people in one place, let alone that many.”
“Maybe we could make notices,” Zeke said. “Hand them out, put ‘em on people’s doors.”
“Hell, Zeke.” Jack scoffed. “We should just let you go shoot your mouth off at the bar, everyone would know by sunrise.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Holden said. “Our agency wants everyone in this town to be safe.”
Jack snorted. “Excuse us if we don’t buy that load of horseshit.” He slapped Deacon’s shoulder. “We got work to do. We’ll wake up who we gotta wake up. I ain’t gonna let nobody in this town die ‘cause they’re dragging their damn feet.” He motioned ruefully at Holden and Lorena.
Lorena turned to Deacon. “I can’t stop you, but you’re a lot safer staying inside tonight. You’re in danger, too. You could run into them again, maybe this time in such a huge pack you won’t be able to fight them off.”
Deacon gazed at her. He opened his mouth, but Jack cut in.
“And what about the people who get set on by that same pack?”
She rubbed her forehead. “I’m under the impression most people in this town have guns, and just as much knowledge as you do about Wolvites. They’ve all dealt with them just as long as you have. It’s admirable you want to be their protectors, but I don’t think anybody in this town is a helpless idiot.”
“Maybe we oughta at least wait until sunrise,” Deacon said to Jack. “I mean, it might be safer for everyone involved if we raise the alarm when the sun’s up. People get tense and sit on their back porches with guns tonight, it ain’t gonna keep anybody safe.”
Jack clenched his fists and marched toward his truck. Lorena gave Deacon a grateful look.
“We should get back to the farm,” Holden said. “We have a lot to do, and the sooner, the better.”
“I’d feel better if you didn’t stay here tonight,” Lorena said softly to Deacon. “It might not be safe. If they come back…”
“I reckon I could gather up Clem and go stay at Jack’s tonight. He’s always got room for me.”
“Safety in numbers.” She nodded.
Deacon touched her arm. “I feel like we ought to escort you home, first.”
“We’ll be all right.” She patted the gun on her hi
p. “But I think it’s best we all get inside right now, out of the night.”
Deacon walked her to her truck. They stood at the back, next to the tailgate, where the raw wet smell of the dead Wolvites thickened the air. They both grimaced and stepped farther away. Holden got in the truck.
“This isn’t how I expected the night to end.” Deacon sighed. “Or how I wanted it to.”
“Me neither.”
“I was kinda hoping by now we’d be tucked up naked under the blankets on my bed.” His eyes glittered.
“I wanted to see what you had for dessert, too. The other dessert.”
He squeezed her arm. “Reckon we’ll have to try again, before you leave. I sure am glad you were with me tonight and kept me from stepping out that door. I’m not sure I could survive that many at once.”
She stepped in close, and caught the scent of him—the sweaty smell of his skin, the light musk of his cologne. If people weren’t waiting for them, she might have climbed him right then and there.
“Thank you for dinner,” she murmured. “It was wonderful, despite the ending.”
He leaned in and kissed her, deep and slow. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against his great, massive body. That didn’t quell the urge to wrap her legs around him.
“Lorena!” Holden shouted out the window. “Come on!”
She broke the kiss and drew back.
“I’ll call you in the morning.” She squeezed Deacon’s shoulders. “I know you have to warn people, but—maybe you don’t have to tell them about the rabies just yet? Please?”
“I’ll see if I can talk some sense into Jack. I can’t promise anything, though.”
“Thank you.”
He walked her around the truck and opened the passenger side door for her. She climbed inside and Holden started the engine. Deacon closed the door and stepped away.
“They’re going to make things harder for us,” Holden said. “We don’t need the town more up in arms than they already are.”
“They’re just protecting themselves.” She waved to Deacon through the window and he blew her a kiss. “And everyone else. I hope they’re careful, though.” She watched him walk toward his truck. “They might be heroes, but this isn’t a movie. Out here, the heroes can get their asses killed.”
