by Raven Snow
"These are some butch rags," Vic said with appreciation while she inspected Felly's closet. She pulled out some cargo pants and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. "Think I could pull this off?"
I eyed the small fit. Felly was muscular, but Vic was built. "I don't think you could pull that on."
"Wanna bet?"
And that was how I ended up watching as Vic squeezed her way into the smallest pair of pants we could find. It was a lot like watching a child being born: horrible but life assuring at the same time. I sat on the bed and watched, my attention so enraptured that I didn't hear the door creak open.
An unearthly howl coming from a man's throat made both Vic and I jump. I twisted off the bed, landing on the floor in a pile of limbs—mostly my own. Vic, in the process of squeezing into pants and a shirt, tripped over herself, smacked against the dry wall, and thumped down to the floor. Almost immediately, her body started struggling with all the fabric, trying to undo herself so she could run or help me. I wasn't sure which.
But I was way beyond help. I was also way beyond laughing at Vic's predicament, which should have been one of the harbingers of the apocalypse. Things were pretty bad when I couldn't find amusement in the misfortune of others.
Standing in the door, looking larger than life, was Boone. His nostrils were flared, and he was looking at me like I'd never seen him look before. I'd seen him hungry, disappointed, and almost everything in between. With a shudder, I realized I hadn't seen him furious.
I wish I could still say that.
His eyes were full wolf yellow now, and he lunged for the bed, colliding with the bed stand when I rolled out of the way. He was up in the next moment, but so was I, already half way to the door. I didn't want to leave Vic behind, but as the danger was chasing me, I figured I was giving her the best chance at escape.
The wind whipped at me as I ran into the woods. It was the closest option, but I couldn't help but draw parallels between myself and the victims. Would Wyatt wake up to my mutilated, naked body tomorrow?
I couldn't think about that now. I had to focus on the pumping of my limbs, of getting air through my lungs. All the while I was running for my life, I knew he was right behind me, getting closer and closer with every step.
I wasn't kidding myself, either. I knew there was no outrunning him. He could've overtaken me easily, but he chose to hang back, to watch me run and allow me to feel his eager breath at the back of my neck. He was going to chase me until I couldn't run anymore. Until it wasn't fun anymore.
And then he was going to kill me. That was certain. But how he did it was up to me.
Diving behind a tree, I scrambled to my feet, so I could face him. Though still in human form, Boone dropped into a crouch, cocking his head at me. He breathed in deep, scenting my fear on the wind. A smile spread over his face, and it made me cold down to my very core.
Calling up the power that lived in me, I gathered my magic frantically. Before my lips could even form a spell that would save me, Boone had me on the ground, his human teeth digging slightly into my neck. Just enough so I could feel it, so it would pinch.
With each terrified breath I took, his teeth sunk in a little more until they broke the skin, blood pooling in his mouth and running down my neck. I panicked with the cut, tears rolling down my face. Was I really never going to see Wyatt again? Or Cooper? My friend's face flashed before my eyes, and I wondered if it would be the last thing I ever saw.
But no, because a slight reprieve on the pressure on my neck made me blink, focusing in on the pale, yellow eyes in front of me. I willed the tears to stop, staring at my attacker without fear—at least on the outside. I was Harper Beck, damn it, and if he wanted to kill me, he'd have to look me in the eyes when he did it.
His teeth sunk into my jugular, and I tensed, waiting for the killing blow—so to speak. After that first bite, though, the sharp canines withdrew completely. When the night air hit the wound, it smarted, and I gasped, the cold rushing in to make me shiver.
Stumbling back, I almost crab walked until I ran into a tree, trying to put as much distance between Boone and myself as possible. He tracked my movements with those eyes, and his body followed suit, almost resting on top of mine by the time he was through.
"You're scared now," he said, smug satisfaction in every word. "I like you better this way."
I spit at him, like an idiot. A proud idiot. His eyes lightened in color for a moment, becoming like headlights, before they died back down.
"You were in Felly's room," he said, tracing the line of my jaw. It would've looked romantic if not for the fact that his fingernails were digging in hard enough to scratch. The blood from that mingled with my neck wound.
I didn't—couldn't—say anything. I just watched Boone, waiting for the movement that would give away my death a second before it happened.
He grabbed the front of my shirt, hauling me off the ground and lifting my feet from it. I hung limply in the air, staring down at his chilly eyes for so long, I thought I'd get frostbite.
"If I see you near her again, I'll kill you." He giggled then, and it went down in the top ten sounds that would haunt my dreams. "Of course, I'll probably do that anyway."
Releasing me quickly, I crumpled to the ground. I couldn't quite get my legs to work right, but it was low on my list of priorities. Boone knelt down, his breath putrid in my face. Leaning forward, he licked some of the blood from my neck, making a sound low in his throat. When he pulled back, his eyes were eager.
Boone shook his head. "Not yet." And then he was gone.
Burying my face in my stomach, I fell over on my side, lying in the fetal position. My body shook in the quietness of the woods, waiting for Boone to come back and finish the job. The wind was all I heard, but it was enough. It seemed to be speaking to me, and the things it said made me recede further into myself.
Some time before the moon was at its highest point in the sky, I passed out cold on the forest floor.
Chapter Eight
I woke up in the hospital, and it was as familiar to me as waking up in my own bed. I stretched, and the bandage around my neck moved, brushing against the bite and making me wince.
A familiar head of dark brown hair was sitting in the visitor’s seat, and I smiled at him, so damn grateful that I got to see him again. The smile wasn’t returned, however, and mine quickly died.
“They found you in the woods,” he said, his voice scarily even. Funny, after what I’d just gone through, I didn’t know that anything could be scary again.
I opened my mouth to tell Wyatt about being chased and having little choice but the words died in my throat. I’d meant the promise when I made it, but in the light of this day, his words took on an unfair tint.
“It’s my job, Wyatt; it’s who I am. I have to solve this case—for Biscuit and for everyone involved.”
“Actually,” he said, his hands in fists at his side. “It’s my job. It’s Kosher’s job. You think just because you’ve solved a couple mysteries you’re a detective?”
“I have more skill than most of your department put together,” I heard myself say.
Wyatt’s hand smashed into the bedside table, sending a bible and a glass of water flying. The glass shattered on the floor, water spraying all over the place.
“No,” he said. “All you do is put yourself in danger over and over and hope you get something out of it.” His voice trembled a little at the end. “That’s not skill, that’s luck.”
“Luck’s gotten me pretty far,” I whispered.
He ran a hand down his face. “But’s that’s the problem with luck. It gets out on a limb and then it buckles under the pressure when you most need it. Saw a lot of that in the army.”
I went still. Wyatt didn’t talk about his service. Ever.
An unhappy smile preceded the comment “And trust me, Harper, luck doesn’t ward against bullets. Or teeth.”
He started for the door, and I jumped out of bed to stop him. My body protested,
and I felt a little unsteady, but I still made it in time. Barely. Wyatt paused in front of me, mostly out of good manners than any intimidation on my part.
My stomach in knots and the blood gone from my face, I held out a trembling hand. Clasped in it was my beautifully unique wedding ring. I opened my fingers, offering it back to Wyatt.
“Do you want this back?”
His fingers brushed my hand when he took it, and the moment the ring left my skin, my heart plummeted to the floor. Honestly, I didn’t know how I stayed standing.
After a second of staring at the engagement ring, he put it gently back in my palm. Wrapping my fingers around it, I brought it to my chest, hoping to keep the ring safe from the words that were being thrown out there.
"I don't want it back," he said. "But when we say forever at that altar, I want both of us to mean it. I can't wait at home for the night you don't come back. I can't do it, Harper."
"What are you saying?" I asked, my lips numb.
His face was unreadable. "I just need some time, okay?"
"Okay."
He gave me a short nod and then walked out the door. As soon as he was out of sight, the air went right out of me, and I sunk back against the wall. My back half was cold from the vulnerability of the hospital gown, but I didn't care. All I could feel was wrapped up in the tiny piece of gold I held in my hand. What once had been a strong metal felt fragile to me now, breakable.
Though I wanted to be alone, the universe just couldn't have that. A couple minutes of devastation later, Felly came in in a janitor's uniform.
I immediately jumped back, almost slipping on the water. I slipped the ring back on my finger and tried not to cower before her, but with Boone so fresh in my mind, it was hard.
"What do you want?" My voice was bleak and almost unrecognizable.
She blinked. "You look horrible."
"And you look like a freaking goddess; get to the point."
Pursing her lips, she said, "I've seen Biscuit."
I went predator-still at that, listening to what she had to say.
"I believe you. I don't think he's the one killing people."
That's because it's your psycho boyfriend, I said silently. And he's just about ruined my relationship along with the lives of everyone around him.
No, I thought miserably, I was the one ruining everything. No matter how many times I trusted Wyatt, I kept reverting to the way I'd been raised. I'd grown up hard, relying on myself for everything. I didn't know how to just give that up. In theory, I was willing to give up anything and everything for Wyatt. But how was I going to put that into actuality?
Unwelcome, a vision of the past came to my mind. It was an old memory, so out of touch with my current self that it almost felt like I was watching another person. A hard mistake to make, because even at seven, I'd been all awkward angles and groovy vibes.
I'd been waiting around for my mom to get off work, my stomach grumbling. There hadn't been a speck of food in the house, and she was supposed to bring some home with her. As the clock approached ten after eleven at night, I held my breath.
If she was a second late, I'd know not to expect her. She'd be home at ten after or not at all. Thinking of the dingy den her drug dealer had just a couple blocks down, my bottom lip trembled. She'd promised she'd be home. She'd promised that this time, she'd be able to keep the job.
The longer hand on the clock hit the ten, and my little head slumped for a minute. Without a word—not that anyone was around to hear me—I slipped out of the house and ran all the way to the convenience store. The man on duty was out of his mind drunk and didn't notice a little girl slip in and out with a bag of chips under her shirt.
It was the first time I'd stolen anything.
"Harper?" Felly said, bringing me back to the present.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, shaking the burden of the past from my mind.
"I want to help you. It seems wrong to let Biscuit die for something he didn't do."
My ears pricked up at that, but I kept my face carefully blank. The bloodhound in me didn't care about Biscuit, only solving the case. But at this point, that was a very small part of me. I just wanted to keep my family together, and if that meant dropping the case like a hot potato, I'd do that.
Then, I'd patch things up with Wyatt.
"Tell me where they're keeping him."
She did.
______
With a plan in place, my mood improved dramatically. In fact, I was so sure of my success that I whistled all the way out of the hospital. Only when I got to the parking lot did I realize I didn’t have a ride home.
Then I realized, I didn’t exactly have a home to go home to.
My jaw at a stubborn angle, I walked all the way to the Funky Wheel with my butt flapping in the wind. I got quite a few catcalls and offers of a ride home. I turned them all down, because I was pretty sure I knew what they wanted as payment. I may be a Foxxy mama, but I was Wyatt’s Foxxy mama.
Walking up to the Funky Wheel was like coming home. I could still remember the first time I’d walked up to it. I was stubborn, a little scared, and optimistic. Not much had changed for me or the Wheel, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
I climbed up the back stairs to the loft above the old church. For most of my time in Waresville, I’d stayed here. It lacked furniture and polish, but at least it was mine. I frowned at the dust covering everything, realizing it’d been a long, long time since I’d set foot here.
Too long. You can’t forget where you’ve been on the way to where you’re going.
I didn't have many clothes here, most of it having been moved to Wyatt's. Fortunately for me, there were some nondescript shoes and a bland pair of jeans I'd gotten at a rummage sale. The shirt was a little more me, sporting "I do what I want" across the chest. Wyatt had bought it for me at a little place just outside of town, grinning as he watched me unwrap it.
"I couldn't resist," he'd said.
The bug was still at Wyatt's, but Oliver's car was parked in front of my grandmother's magic shop. I knew where he kept the extra keys, too. So, without alerting him in so many words that I was taking the car, I swiped the keys and the car and was on my way. In the rearview mirror, I saw Oliver come running out onto the street, his cape trailing behind him. He scratched his head and shook his fist at my disappearing form.
I pulled right up to the side of the woods not far from the Victorian. It was pretty rough terrain for Oliver's little car, and I was afraid I'd owe him a damage fee when I returned it. Then, I remembered what my t-shirt said and shrugged. He'd signed on for this when we became friends. If he gave me any trouble about it, I'd remind him of the time he betrayed me and trashed the Funky Wheel. That was always mollifying, no matter how much time had passed.
Following the directions Felly had given me, I walked through the forest without fear, checking the compass on my phone every few steps. I didn't know if it was my purpose or if I was still in shock, but none of the strange sounds of the woods frightened me. I kind of felt a little invincible, like I'd lived through so much at this point that nothing could live up to it.
After a couple minutes of walking, I came to the clearing Felly had told me about, and I nearly fell to my feet in relief. Sitting in a large, faintly glowing cage in the middle of the clearing was Biscuit. He was a little scraggly and wild looking, his fur more matted than usual, but his tongue lolled out of his mouth at the sight of me, giving me a huge grin.
He started to bark, but I shushed him, crouching down in front of his cage and lacing my finger through his sandy fur. "Can you change back to human?"
In lieu of an answer, he started to pant and groan, his bones jutting out and his body morphing in a horrible jumble of limbs. I made a face and turned away, watching the tree line with interest while the deed was being done. Once, about halfway through the change, I thought I saw movement off to my right, but when I looked closer, no one was there.
That invin
cible feeling was starting to go away, and I'd never missed something so much in my life.
"My human!" Biscuit said happily, naked and still a little wolfish from the recent change.
"Harper," I corrected him. "Or Foxxy if I'm getting jiggy with it."
"I don't know what that means." He still sounded happy as a clam, despite that.
I shook my head mournfully. "I'm cursed to remain the only one with groove in a sea of stiffs."
Getting close to the bars again, I wrapped my hands around them. The energy humming from the metal almost made me yelp in pain, but I held on, trying to read it. It was...complex.
"Can you get out?" I asked, not seeing a key in sight and not sure if I should just go throwing magic at the thing.
He shook his head, still smiling. "Alpha said this cage was made by a powerful witch to keep wolves in."
"Powerful witch, huh? Too bad we don't have one of those around to counteract the spell."
"I think you're powerful."
My lips twitched. "Holding the power over treats is not the same as holding power over the mystic arts. But I appreciate the vote of confidence."
Though Biscuit had no way of knowing, he was right. I was powerful. Powerful enough to scare myself with the bottomless void of magic that lay within me. Unfortunately, by choice, I hadn't done anything with that magic. My list of spells was confined to simple, not dangerous magic—if such a beast existed. Nothing that could counteract what I was feeling from the cage.
Flipping open my phone, I dialed Gran. She picked up on the first ring, but she was grumpy as hell.
"What?"
"I need to know how to break a powerful spell cast by another witch."
A beat passed. "Such a feat takes years of training—complex unraveling skills."
"Could you do it?"
This time the pause lasted so long I started to think she'd hung up. "An eon or two ago, maybe, depending on the spell. My talents never lay in uncasting. That is a lesser magic." She sighed. "In any case, it has been many years since I have seen well enough to unravel the Tangles."
