by N. D. Jones
Gen shook her head. “I’ll be fine. I don’t live far. I’ll be home in less than fifteen minutes if I walk fast or jog.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry about me, Jalia. You two are the ones who have to catch the bus home. You keep the charm. My Aunt Sanura will make me another one.”
“Shit, if I hadn’t lost mine, you wouldn’t have had to loan me yours.”
Gen waved Jalia’s worry away. “Look, don’t worry about it.”
Not waiting for the red light or more arguments from Jalia and Keisha, Gen dashed across Reisterstown Road. Once across the street, she turned back around and waved at her friends. “I’ll see you guys at school Monday. Don’t worry about me. I’ll have my Cali ass home in no time.”
Gen hustled away from the bright lights of the mall and the worried gazes of her best friends. She turned onto Clarks Lane, the residential street a mix of urban and suburban, quiet and peaceful with a throbbing pulse of energy that only came with living among a diverse group of people. If the full-humans of Baltimore knew how diverse their city truly was…Gen shook her head and smiled.
The sun had just started to make its descent, and Gen figured she would reach her front door before darkness officially blanketed the city, tucking it in for the night.
iPod strapped around her arm and buds in her ears, the teenager sang and danced her way down one side street and up another. When she reached Fallstaff Road, an unknown energy caused her to pause. She’d spent too much time looking over her shoulder on the streets of San Francisco not to know when something vile, something dangerous was near.
She quickly spun around and looked down the street from whence she came. Gen peered into the darkness but saw no one. The goosebumps on her arms and pounding heartbeat told her she sensed a presence, but her eyes and ears picked up nothing.
Now regretting not calling her foster parents for a ride home, as they requested, she turned her music down to a melodic hush. Casting another glance behind her, she made a left onto her street. House in sight, she picked up her pace to outrun whatever it was her instincts detected.
Stay calm. Just stay calm.
The sickening energy increased. The stench of the malevolent aura clogged her throat, making her want to puke.
It struck.
Darkness with wings and fangs appeared, swooping down toward her, covering Gen with its frightening form. Hungry, glowing, red eyes clashed with alarmed brown ones. Gen let out a glass-shattering scream before the night flyer trapped her underneath its body.
Lights in the neighborhood went ablaze, doors opened by concerned and nosey neighbors alike.
Gen struggled with the adze, her arms wedged between their bodies and pushing upward with all her might. Not enough. Too strong for me. Way too strong.
Rancid, hot breath.
Deadly, sharp fangs.
Pierced skin, flowing blood, terrified witch.
Adze.
No! Stop! Her mind screamed.
It didn’t.
Gen knew of the death dealer. Her foster parents had talked to her about it. They had class discussions about the monster in Gen’s Introduction to Defensive Incantations class. She’d even met a third-grader, in Cyn’s office, whose parents were killed by the monster. Still, she never thought it would come after her. She never imagined.
What do I do now? Dear goddess, what do I do?
Neck burning with each pull from the adze’s gluttonous mouth, its weight suffocating and crushing, she focused on gasping out the most advanced defensive spell she knew. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to send the bloodsucking serial killer flying off of her.
Warm blood ran from her neck, down her shoulder, and onto her pink Beyonce graphic tee. She knew she should move, get up and run away before the bat came back for her. It couldn’t be far. Gen’s magic was too early in the pubescent stage of development to have done more than give her a few feet of breathing room. The adze would come back for her. She was sure of it. I gotta get out of here. I gotta do something. I gotta—
Strong, familiar arms grabbed her like she was an infant, cradling Gen’s weakened body to his reassuring chest. She tried to say his name, but no words came. The simple effort wrenched a cry from the teen. Warm blood ran unobstructed from her neck, down her shoulder, and onto her pink Beyonce graphic tee. And she had never felt so scared or relieved.
The arms holding her tightened with ferocious protectiveness. Eric Garvey maneuvered them behind his wife. Gen could make out the words her foster mother whispered. From the soft incantation, a force field, invisible to full-humans, formed from the earth’s electrical energy, surging up and over, an ocean-blue haze separating the family from the monster.
The neighbors were out in force by now, cell phones up to ears, calling 911, and screams bellowed into the night air, a church bell alerting the townspeople to danger. Like Gen, the astonished neighbors had glimpsed the seven-foot brown humanoid bat with a four-foot wingspan and piercing red eyes. While many people wisely hid in their homes from the batlike creature, those who did venture out, guns in hand, probably wanted to mount the hideous thing to their wall.
But there were others, the fortune seekers in the bunch whose cell phone flashes nearly blinded the dazed and bleeding Gen. They, more than likely, hoped to sell the pics to whatever newspaper or cable news show that printed such outlandish features with titles like, “Man-Bat Takes on Baltimore,” or “Baltimore Really Sucks.”
Regardless of the reason for the neighbors forming an impromptu neighborhood watch, the adze couldn’t finish the kill with so many onlookers. Hovering in a human neighborhood, mouth dripping with the blood of an innocent, the monster did something Gen was told adzes never did. It retreated into the shielding darkness of the night sky, followed by bullets from a few of her male neighbors with more bullets than brains, who hooped and hollered that they had “tagged that ugly son of a bitch.”
Seeing the retreating silhouette of her attacker, Gen exhaled, taking comfort in Eric’s warm embrace, Cynthia’s resolute field. Gen could hear sirens and excited chatter in the background and wondered how long before she would pass out or if that only happened in the movies.
Darkness closed in around her, and this time, Gen knew it wasn’t from the adze.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hunger. Pain. Fatigue. Anger.
Heavy wings glided stiffly on stale currents of gnawing defeat. So close. The adze’s engorged tongue and malevolent teeth could still feel the succulent witch’s flesh. Hypnotic drops of blood clung, the taste beautiful and cruel. It wasn’t enough. She needed more.
Much, much more.
Grave red eyes scanned the checkered landscape below, leathery wings taking it farther, farther away. Night grew deeper, darker and unforgiving, mimicking the fierce stab of hunger clawing at the adze, begging for rich, crimson fulfillment or a quick, painless death.
Hunger. Pain. Fatigue. Anger.
She flew, guided by scent, need, and nature. This was what she was, what she was born to do. How the gods had made her kind.
Hunt. Kill. Eat. Live.
Finally, when rancid odors and crammed city living gave way to sprawling greenery and blessed silence, she landed. Wings slowly lowered as she made her graceful descent. Claws, sharpened to staggering points, grasped a large branch. The solidly formed thickly bloomed American Beech was no more fazed by her meager weight or bloody intentions than the ravages done to its glorious bark. A child’s well-worn swing, with rusted chains, dangled below her stolen perch.
Pushing back the painful abdominal churning of too many missed meals, she used the barest of efforts to move aside a clump of orange-and-green leaves. There. It was faint. So weak in its sweet allure, she questioned her senses. But the unfaithful clenching of muscles and the sudden quickening of her blood-deprived, blackened heart told another story. A familiar tale that could only end one way—deliciously full.
She pulled the ebbing blood memory of the one that got away. The one
that tasted of an odd mixture of cumulus rainfall and reptilian innocence.
The shift began, slow and agonizing, body weak, malnourished. But it wouldn’t be for long. Not if she could make the transformation work, maintain it long enough. Yes, long enough.
Three minutes later, silent, bare feet rubbed against prickly, fresh-cut grass. The scent tickled her nose, and a sneeze threatened. She was human, or as close as she would ever come.
“Who’s out there?” The man’s voice was high and loud. An edge to it whispered in the wind that this territory was his domain. The man was wrong, of course.
The adze came forward, showing herself in the light that beamed heavy and bright from the wraparound porch. “H–help me,” her small, satiny, feminine voice pleaded. “Help me, p–please!”
“Explain it to me again, Makena?” Mike asked for the third time in two days.
“We’ve gone over this. I don’t understand why you don’t understand. Or is it you choose not to understand because you feel you’re losing Sanura to Assefa?”
Taking a seat on the sofa, Mike ran a hand through salt-and-pepper hair before scratching his two-day-old stubble. “You and Sanura are the only family I have and with Sam gone, I don’t have too many friends left.”
Makena stood in front of her old, dear friend and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “This changes nothing of substance, you must know that. Sanura loves you. You have a place in her heart no one could ever replace, and a home here with us. Some things change, Mike, but others never will. Besides, Assefa is good for her, and he’s the only young man who’s ever come to visit that you couldn’t scare away. He’s not afraid of you, Mike, and I think that’s what got you so upset.”
She laughed when he pouted and sucked his teeth as if he were a seven-year-old who was just told he couldn’t watch his favorite cartoon. She walked into the kitchen chuckling at his juvenile behavior, knowing dwarfs to be a jealous, possessive lot. “You can’t intimidate this one, my friend,” Makena loudly said so he could hear her, “so you simply need to accept that he’ll be around.”
“You aren’t the one who must work with Mr. Perfect and then have to see his annoyingly cheerful face during off-hours,” Mike yelled after her, his smoke-roughened throat sounding harsher than normal. As much as Makena hated the smell of smoke and what it did to the body, she didn’t worry about her friend getting cancer. There were very few human illnesses that afflicted dwarves, or witches for that matter, and cancer, no matter the type, wasn’t one of them. Knowing Mike McKutchen, he would live to a ripe old age, making Anubis await his leisure.
Makena turned to see that Mike had followed her into the kitchen. “I thought you said you found his intellect and self-assured nature a boon in your line of work. You told me he was courageous and calm under pressure.”
“Well,” he grumbled, “don’t listen to everything I say. I was probably drunk when I made those ridiculous comments.”
Makena laughed again, knowing a dwarf’s metabolism made it impossible for them to get drunk. The young agent was obviously, if not annoyingly, growing on him. She’d known Mike a long time, well enough to know he only bitched about people he liked. But by making such an admission, in his mind, his reputation as a hard-ass would be ruined. For a dwarf who was five feet on a good day with insoles, his I’ll-kick-your-ass-rather-than-shake-your-hand attitude had served him well over the years. More or less.
“And dammit, Makena, the man still hasn’t told me how he knew I was a dwarf.”
The fact that Assefa was a member of a secret division of the FBI, devoted to tracking down dangerous preternatural creatures, and the idea that said division wouldn’t have performed a detailed background check on the very man, who brought the case to their attention before sending in one of their agents to work with him, clearly eluded the detective. Perhaps Mike simply believed that since he’d managed to fool full-humans for so long, he could fool anyone, even a were-cat trained to sniff out killers, as well as lies.
“And,” Mike said scowling, “did I tell you the kid handcuffed me?”
No, but Sanura had, and they’d laughed long and hard. Tears included.
“He’s supposed to be my partner, but he turned on me.” Mike raised a black pant leg, revealing a slouched brown sock. “He handcuffed me to my own ankle. Wrist to damn ankle, Makena.”
Oh, hell, Sanura hadn’t told her that part. Makena howled.
“It’s not funny, damn you. Why do you always find humor in my pain?” He dropped his pant leg. “Assefa was gone by the time I got myself free. Probably afraid I would kick his highbrow ass.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that was it, Mike.”
“You know, Makena Williams, you may be beautiful on the outside but you’re an ugly, ugly woman on the inside.”
She batted long, dark lashes at him, and said in her sweetest voice, “So you find me beautiful, do you Detective McKutchen?”
Mike snorted. “Damn, I can’t even insult you without you turning the tables on me.” Small but strong hands grasped hers. “Of course, you’re beautiful, inside and out. Sam always said so and I agree.”
Makena swallowed a sudden lump. She didn’t want to talk about her deceased husband, not even with Mike.
“And I’m not the only one who thinks so. Look, I know a couple of decent were-cats on the force. Good, solid guys who I could introduce—Come on Makena, don’t shake your head like that. I haven’t even—Fine. But—”
“No!”
She said nothing more. Mike knew her feelings on the matter, and she knew his. He thought she should start getting out…date. She disagreed. Positions clear.
He let her hands go, reclined in his chair, and sighed. “One of these days you’re gonna have to…never mind. Just never mind. Tonight’s not about that. It’s about the kids downstairs and their future. Just…just explain it to me one more time.”
Grateful Mike hadn’t ruined the evening by pushing her on something she would not be moved on, Makena finished preparing their drinks. She handed a steaming cup of arpeggio coffee to the detective.
Mike pulled out two chairs from the kitchen table, and they sat. The dwarf truly was a dear man, and he missed Sam nearly as much as she and Sanura did. But he was no further along in “moving on” from Sam’s death than she. Perhaps if she recommended that Mike get himself a new best friend, he would then understand. Or maybe he would agree. And where would that leave Makena?
“I’m sure you’re familiar with the typical figure of the witch and her black cat,” she began.
Mike nodded.
“Witches have used animals to help them with their magical works for a long time. The familiar assists the witch in her magical works. Traditionally, cats are associated with witches. Yet other animals, dogs, rabbits, horses, and snakes can also be familiars.” Raising the coffee cup to her mouth, Makena blew, then took a cautious sip. “When the witches of antiquity went underground to escape persecution by humans and unwilling possession by adzes, the males—warlocks—banded together and devised a plan to protect their women.”
“Okay, I do remember Sanura saying only female witches could be possessed by an adze, so that meant male witches…I mean warlocks were never targets of witch hunters or adzes.”
“Correct. After years on the run, the group eventually settled in Mennefer, Egypt. Soon after their arrival, the warlocks went to the temple of Sekhmet and hashed out a deal with her. The goddess Sekhmet is the daughter of the sun god Ra. Her name comes from the Egyptian word sekhem, which means power or might. She’s the patron of physicians, priests, and healers, but she’s also known as the goddess of war and destruction. Sekhmet removes threats and punishes those who go against Ma’at.”
“I’m not interested in a mythology lesson, Makena, but what in the hell is Ma’at?”
Makena shook her head. “Is there anything you believe in, Mike, greater than yourself?”
“No. Now spill.”
She rolled her eyes. The man could t
ry the patience of the Dalai Lama and wouldn’t give a damn as long as he found out what he wanted to know. Makena rubbed her temples, feeling a Mike-induced migraine coming on. “Ma’at is an ancient Egyptian concept based on truth, law, justice, morality, and order. Now that I think about it, as a cop, these are the same principles you believe in. So perhaps there’s hope for you yet, Mike. Anyway,” she said, seeing Mike wasn’t impressed with the idea of having principles beyond the thrill of kicking the asses of criminals. “Sekhmet helps maintain order in the world. So, when the men went to her temple for help, she was more than willing to aid their efforts in restoring balance between adzes and witches.”
“What kind of deal did the men make with the goddess?” He took a gulp of his hot coffee, wincing and cursing when it burned his tongue, glaring viciously at the drink as if his carelessness was the coffee’s fault.
Makena stood, went to the counter where she’d pulled a pie from the fridge earlier. Lifting the lid off the see-through Pie Keeper, Makena cut into the pie, and then placed a slice on a bread plate. Grabbing a fork, she returned to the table, handed Mike a slice of guava cheese, sat, and picked up where she’d left off.
“The men promised to worship Sekhmet for all time and do her bidding if she gave them the ability to protect their women from the adzes. In return, for an eternity of strong males who would pass down the knowledge and wisdom of the warrior goddess, she granted the men the power to transform their bodies into fierce cats. Not only could they shift shape, while in human form they possessed increased sense of smell, sight, taste, and hearing. The type of cat each male can turn into now depends on the cat his forefather chose. Thus, some families have the ability to turn into cheetahs, while others leopards and others still tigers, and so on.”
“But that doesn’t account for were-cats in other parts of the world who had nothing to do with the pact.”
Makena couldn’t help but nod approvingly at her friend. Behind Mike’s wrinkled clothes, bad attitude, and grumpy demeanor was a dwarf with a keen mind. He hadn’t made detective by age thirty because of his charming personality or willingness to kiss bureaucratic ass. No, it was his seafoam eyes people often dismissed that told the true story. Dwarves were many things, but unintelligent and naïve weren’t among them. This is what Makena loved about him and what her husband first saw in Mike too many years ago to count.
