by Nikki Sex
“Tell me what you mean when you mentioned a monster.”
“You know who I’m talking about. He fixed me. He changed me. You were there.” Hope sighs and adds, “He’s really, really ugly.”
Surprised, I turn toward her. “You’ve seen him?”
“Yeah, he looks super scary, but he thinks he’s beautiful.”
“Can you see him right now?”
“No.”
I ask her to describe him, and she does, but all I can get from her are dark, frightening impressions—exactly like what he communicates to me. “You’re going to be a werewolf soon, Hope,” I say. “Then you’ll have a beast, as I do.”
“Yes, you explained about the inner beast.”
“Right. I did. Only my beast is different from yours, and I can’t change shape—not like you will. You’re going to be able to turn into a wolf.” I slant her a deliberately silly disappointed expression. “I’ve been ripped off.”
Hope laughs.
“No one can ever know about my monster friend, Hope,” I tell her. “No one—not even your brother. My inner friend is very powerful. Everyone in the world is afraid of him. If folks know about my inner beast they will kill me, do you understand?”
“I understand.”
My tone is firm. “What do you understand?”
“People will kill you if they find out about the monster you keep inside.”
“Good. You don’t want me to die, do you?”
“No,” she says vehemently.
I sigh. “OK, then.”
See what happens when I break my own rules? I shouldn’t have saved Hope and her brother, but I can’t regret it. A secret is a secret if only one person knows it. In the past I’ve killed to survive, but ending Hope’s life in order to protect myself is utterly out of the question.
There’s only one thing I can do now. I’ll prepare to leave the country right after I deliver these two to the wolf pack. I’ll drop them off, and drive to the airport. Any other strategy is too risky.
I’ll miss my Monday morning appointment with the Zheng family. I guess they’ll have to find their missing diamonds on their own.
Hope burbles on, as cheerful and chatty as a five-year-old. “I’m enchanted—just like a princess in a fairytale. Your monster made me magic, and it’s not even my birthday! Maybe I’ll meet a handsome prince. Then Owen and I will live in a castle happily ever after.”
Feeling upset and anxious, I tune out completely, stuck in my impending loss. I don’t want to leave Vancouver. I adore my job, the camaraderie I share with my co-workers, and I especially love my boss. I also get a kick out of working as a psychic. Still, it will take time, but I can set up again—maybe in Germany. They’re open-minded about such things.
“I’m going to need my magic. You’re going to need me and my magic, too.” I hear her say, as I drive into the underground parking lot of my apartment complex.
What?
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re going to need me and my magic, too.”
No matter how I nag, Hope remains closemouthed after that. Talk about déjà vu. What a stubborn, annoying young woman. Was that a premonition? Why would I need her magic?
It seems doubtful, considering I’ll be an entire continent and ocean away.
Hope’s on my side, but a pack bond is a power of its own. Physically, psychically, and magically, after she shifts, her loyalty will rest with the pack alpha whether she likes him or not. At that point, keeping silent will be difficult. Someday, my secret will come up, and she’ll confess. Or perhaps Hope will simply tell because she feels obligated to do so.
I’ll be long gone by then. Per usual, when I leave an area, I’ll pay to have my photo license and passport—the only pictures of me on record—replaced with a deceased person. I’ll change my name after I arrive in my new country.
“Hey, Jan?”
“Yeah?”
“I forgot to tell you.”
“What?”
“Your monster has really red eyes.”
What the fuck?
Does she mean my demon is the raven? If such is the case, I have nothing to fear. Too bad that answer doesn’t feel right.
I keep alert for the hint of foul-smelling evil which frightened me in my dreams. Whatever it is, it’s something so powerful it controlled a lycanthrope and a vampire. Against their natures, it made them work together to attack two humans—with human teeth.
It’s a mystery, for sure.
As I park my car, I mentally go over the few actions needed to make my escape. I’ll get my vet to arrange Toby’s transport. Shall I buy an apartment in Düsseldorf? Or perhaps Valencia, in Spain? I can cut out in an instant with only my passport and go-bag, if necessary.
Poor Toby will be pissed as hell.
I have access to my accounts from any country in the world. An agent will pick up my car from the airport and manage my assets. I sigh, thinking about the message I’ll leave my boss.
I’ll definitely fly out today.
That’s my plan, anyway.
In life, however, things rarely go according to plan.
As it turns out, choosing to leave, or choosing to stay won’t make any difference. At this point, I’m blithely unaware of my impending future. Within the next two and a half hours, my nice, orderly, under control life is about to change forever.
Chapter 21. Bon Voyage
We return home with takeout, sit at the table and consume every slice. Easy to please, Owen is ecstatic with the items we purchased for him. He and his sister both try things on, laugh, admire each other’s outfits, and cut off tags.
Meanwhile, I pack what I need—mainly my go-bag. I don’t wear a wig, make no attempt to disguise myself, or take fake ID to this meeting.
With powerful shifters, there’s no point.
Eventually, I can no longer put it off. I want to arrive well before the sun goes down. Owen, Hope, and I clamber into my car. Owen sits in the front with me, while Hope rides in the back with Toby.
Owen is dressed in blue jeans, a button-down plaid flannel shirt, brown working boots, and a brown leather jacket. He and his sister each have a gym bag full of clothes, footwear, wads of cash, and pre-paid phones with my number programmed in them—even though I intend to let the number lapse.
We head toward Coquitlam but quickly turn north, following the throb of shifter power. At least I won’t have trouble finding the place.
My anxiety levels are off the charts for a number of reasons. I warned my demon if he wasn’t quiet as the grave while near the werewolves, I’d soon be in a grave. Also, like any mother bird anxiously watching her babies leave the nest, I’m worried about how well my rescued chicks will fly.
Hanging out with an alpha werewolf is the ultimate risk. Only a vampire assassin would be scarier. As far as I know, I appear normal, but I’ve never fully tested that theory. I don’t allow supernaturals a chance to interact, or even notice me—not if I can help it.
Like every other paranormal, I hope this alpha is metaphysically blind to my demon. Otherwise, it’s going to be a very short visit.
Expelling a nervous breath, my body quivers in anticipation. I’m frightened and turned on. Just wonderful.
Shit.
I have several heart-stopping personal fears. In the past, I’ve been sick, shot, stabbed, and once during a flood in our village, I even drowned. It was a surprise when I woke to discover I was alive.
Unfortunately, my experiences haven’t lessened my fears. I dread the thought of my demon taking control. My own pain is one thing. Causing injury or death to innocents is another.
Yet my greatest fear is being caught by the paranormal community. They don’t kill the demon-possessed—they torture them first. Torture is the job of a vampire assassin.
I’ve never met one.
As you can appreciate, I intend to keep this perfect record.
I learned a long time ago that the only way to keep fear and panic at bay is
to concentrate ruthlessly on the goal, and ignore everything else. Hope and Owen need a pack to survive—I sure as hell know nothing about helping them change.
One step at a time.
“So, Owen,” I say, to pass the time. “Have you thought about what you want to be when you grow up?”
“My school counselor thought I’d make a good nurse.”
“Oh? You like that idea?”
“Yeah.”
“How about you, Hope?” I ask to include her, although I doubt she was thinking of a career while hard at work in the basement. More like considering how to escape. So, I add, “You know, what do you want to do with your life now?”
In her low melodious voice, she says, “I want to stop the bad people.”
I clear my throat. “OK.”
Just what do I say to that conversation stopper? Good idea, I’ll get your supergirl cape? How about, Yeah, let’s kill them all? I wonder how she plans to tell the difference between a good person and bad person.
“I know how,” she adds.
I frown. “You do?”
“Yes.”
I change the subject. “There will be too many questions if people find out Hope once had Down syndrome. I think we should hide it.”
Petting Toby, Hope turns to Owen. “No one needs to know.”
“I agree,” Owen says.
“Many werewolves can taste or smell a lie,” I warn them. “Evade or say nothing, but always speak the truth.”
They get into a discussion of how to keep their story straight. Hope was imprisoned in their family’s basement, their father is a crazy, violent douche bag, their mom is a zombie stuck under Dad’s control. Hope was never taught to read as she never went to school.
I listen and feel proud of them. They’re both too young to be dealing with this shit, but I was young once, too.
People make their own choices, yet it seems to me life is tough on everyone. My mother burned to death in her devil-summoning fire. I was a kid—on my own and living with a baby demon.
My life was no picnic, but I managed to survive. Owen, and Hope will figure things out, too.
We pass through Port Moody and onto Heritage Mountain Drive. We travel out of the city into lighter suburbia with tree-lined streets and public parks. The pulse of otherworldly enchantment draws me. I feel my demon stir.
Going north. Still moving north.
“Remember what I told you,” I mutter quietly to my inner friend.
Owen and Hope say nothing.
I can’t believe I’m deliberately driving toward werewolves, but I can’t stop now. The closer I go, the more their magic pulls at me, like a fish on a line. I hope I don’t end up as someone’s dinner.
“Do you guys have any last questions?” I ask, more to keep a conversation going to distract me than anything else.
“Not really,” Owen replies.
I look at Hope in the rearview mirror, she’s petting my dog. Toby wears a harness seatbelt, but he’s still managed to put his head on her lap. Hope’s eyes are very bright, her lips curve in an enigmatic smile.
“What are you smiling about?”
“The leader.”
“The Alpha? What about him?”
“You’re going to like him. I think you’ll like him a lot.”
Toby stares at me accusingly, snuffs his disapproval.
I grin. “Oh, yeah?”
Hope says nothing, but her smile remains secretive and knowing.
Sheesh. Seriously? Is she really using her gift for matchmaking?
Chapter 22. Once in a Lifetime
I imagine Hope a hundred years from now: a little old gypsy fortune teller hunched over a crystal ball at a circus.
But what should I expect?
Hope was a child of low intellect who’d been imprisoned in a basement, forced into child labor, while watching “happily ever after” Disney movies. Of course, her idea of relationships is unrealistic.
I bet she thinks love at first sight is typical.
Anyway, in this case, she’s a hundred percent right. I’ve no doubt I’ll fall into deep lust with the werewolf alpha, whether he’s a scary, controlling asshole or not. His power alone will make my heart pound, my knees weak, and my head spin.
My demon and I adore shifters—that’s nothing new. Too bad supernaturals are hazardous to hang out with.
The weather is brisk and sunny. It’s the weekend, so people are outside mowing lawns and washing their cars. Kids are on bikes, playing in parks, and flying kites.
“Male or female, most wolves will be dominant to you,” I firmly remind them. “It’s a scale and a hierarchy, with the strongest wolf running the show. No wolf will pick on you unless you challenge it. So, give way, lower your eyes, and do as you’re told. You guys should be fine. Understand?”
“Yes,” they chorus happily.
They’ve heard this lecture already. Sister and brother, they’re not in the least disturbed with the idea of becoming werewolves. Family life didn’t work out so well for them, and living on the street wasn’t much better. How bad could a wolf pack be?
They’re humoring me, bless their cotton sox. But when did the young ever understand?
Images of corrupt, stupid, or sadistic pack alphas run through my thoughts. Every vice or virtue, the human half of werewolves can have them, too. Their inner beast can be a source of extreme good or unlimited evil.
Only with a lycanthrope, bad is worse. Way, way worse.
I could try to warn them, but I won’t.
Yeah, yeah, Hope and Owen are both young and idealistic—a nice stage of life to enjoy. It’s not up to me to ruin their trusting innocence nor make them as cynical and suspicious as I am.
My view? I figure 80% of humanity, (including supernaturals) are well-intended good people. Another 15% are iffy, mainly because they are closely connected to the worst people of all, the 5%. The remaining five are past redemption and need cerebral lead therapy (a bullet to the brain, or in the case of a werewolf, a silver bullet to the brain).
Using those odds, 20% of those in positions of power will send a torrent of irritating bullshit down the line, driving the rest of us crazy. In all probability, Hope and Owen’s pack leader will be an OK kind of guy.
I wish I’d never heard those rumors that he’s a merciless, cold-blooded killer.
Meanwhile, I’m crossing my fingers.
As we travel further north, we pass more rural areas, driving past fields with horses, surrounded by post and rail fences. Vast tracts of road are now bordered by trees: Douglas fir, western red cedar, western hemlock, and Sitka spruce. The smell of sun, pine and nitrogen-rich air fills our senses.
Eventually, we make our way into the village municipality of Anmore via East Road. Now I can smell the ocean.
Anmore sits along the shores of a saltwater fjord called Indian Arm. It’s an upmarket town with housing in a minimum of one-acre lot sizes. It’s part of the Buntzen Lake recreation area, which includes a popular swimming beach.
The municipality is lightly populated with under two-thousand people. There are two main roads, six streets long, and three deep. We drive by restaurants, gift shops, a couple of galleries. A grocery store, pharmacy, service station, town hall. Anmore is connected to the TransLink public transit system which takes commuters to and from Vancouver. It’s served by the C26 bus that runs down both major roads, Sunnyside Rd. and East Road.
Following the shifter aura, we end up at a crushed gravel road that disappears into a thickly-treed forest. A sign boldly warns, “No Public Access.”
I pull over at the most northern end of town near the First Nation’s Art shop. The words, First Nations replaced the term "Indians" to cover all the indigenous peoples of Canada. The shop appears to carry a variety of paintings, leather goods, hand-crafted jewelry, wood sculptures, pottery, and so on.
Hyper alert, I scan for anything supernatural. The mystery of my foul-smelling nightmare and the man named Legion who orchestrated the attack
on Owen and Hope remains at the front of my thoughts. What could make a werewolf and a vampire work together?
That dangerous puzzle is the alpha’s problem to solve.
In this place, I sense no hint of the set-my-teeth-on-edge evil I felt in my nightmare. I can sense several werewolves in the shop, but there are far more down the “No Public Access” road that disappears into the forest. It makes perfect sense.
Public? Who us?
We don’t fit into the public category.
Shifters keep their territory warded to keep the average person and perhaps even vampires away. I’ve never attempted to pass through a magical barrier. Why would I? I’ve spent my whole life avoiding anything supernatural.
Oh, well. There’s a first time for everything.
My smile is wry because I don’t often experience a “first.” Seconds, thirds, hundredths, and thousandths, yes. Plenty of those. After two-hundred years, I’ve done so many things—little is actually new.
Taking a journey through a witch’s spell should be exciting. A fun, once-in-a-lifetime challenge, right?
To hell with it. Enough psyching myself up for this.
Inhaling a long, deep breath, I drive right on through.
Chapter 23. Enchantment
This is a good, firm road—one clearly well-traveled. The gravel crunches under my tires as we pass through a small meadow. I make a sharp turn into the forest.
A witch would have set a ward to keep average humans out. I wonder what witch magic tastes like? Sweet, maybe. Like chocolate or candy. Like wicked excess and temptation. After all, the story of Hansel and Gretel came from somewhere.
More importantly, I wonder if the enchantment will let us all through?
Ah, I feel it now. A tiny hum of soundless energy purrs softly in my bones. It’s peaceful and earthy. The soft buzzing reminds me of the sleepy sound of bees harvesting nectar on a warm and lazy day.
We are at the outer edges of the enchanted barrier.
Straining against his dog harness, Toby stands in the back seat, gives a soft woof, and wags his tail enthusiastically. He must be super excited to actually bark.
