by Carl Waters
Merlin chuckled at that. “I am not King Solomon. I will not feign the ability to split the hood in half. You must choose.”
Angeline felt her shoulders slumping, her heart breaking at the thought of it. This was not something she could do. It was not something she would do. And in the end, she realized, why should she? Couldn’t Merlin make the choice as easily as she? He’d known the girls since they were born and had, in fact, taught both the art of the long bow.
He was the leader of the Hoods. The original Hood. It was his choice to say. Not hers.
But when she told him as much, he merely laughed.
“I know the red hood well, Angeline, but not as well as you, who have worn it for so many years, worked with it in the most intimate manner, and learned to hear what it has to say. No, I will not make this choice for you. Only you can say what the hood itself might want. Has it not told you which it prefers? Has it not expressed a desire to bond with either of them? If it hasn’t, perhaps the hood will choose someone else entirely.”
He grew quiet for a moment, and Angeline turned abruptly, walking toward the nearest tree and leaning her forehead against it. Around her, the sounds of the forest began again—the chirping of the birds, the soft movement of the wind through the leaves above her head. She heard some larger creature in the distance and wished for a moment that she could be that creature—a bear, or a deer, or a bobcat, who knew nothing but that it must find its next meal or a place to sleep for the night. To worry only about food and shelter rather than the responsibilities that now faced her …
Furious, she punched the tree in front of her, cracking its hard exterior with her fist. Then she slashed at it with the other hand, scraping her nails through the bark.
“I don’t want to choose,” she snarled.
Suddenly Merlin was behind her, his hands on her shoulders. “I can understand that,” he said quietly. “For who would want to hand their daughter over to this life? Who would want to curse her daughter to living the rest of her days as a werewolf slayer? You lost your own husband to one of the creatures. I cannot blame you if you choose not to lose a daughter as well. But you must choose, one way or another—either to name one of them or to turn the hood over to someone else of my choosing. And soon.”
At that, Angeline turned back toward him, her eyes searching his face. “Am I going to die?” she asked, her voice broken. “Is that why you’re asking me?”
“I cannot see the future of any Hood, my little one. Not even my own. I don’t know when you’re going to die, but I know in my heart that it is time for you to find your path forward. If one of your girls is to be the next Red Hood, we must begin her real training.”
“Have you found any potential candidates to replace the Green Hood?” she asked defiantly. Surely if Johann was dead, that was the more important opening. Surely Merlin should be focusing on that rather than a Red Hood who was still capable of doing her job.
Merlin sighed. “I am searching for someone. It’s true that Johann’s death—and the lack of an heir—is causing difficulties. We are a broken circle, and more vulnerable than I would like. But I have … more pressing needs at the moment.”
“And what are those? What could be more important than the death of one of the Hoods?”
He looked up and gazed into her eyes for a moment. “The death of all the Hoods. For that is what this vampire is after. It is his mission, and so I am traveling to my Hoods to warn them. We are all in danger. Even me. We will not be safe until this vampire is killed with the rest of his coven. We are weaker without the Green, but if he kills us all, it will be … ”
“The end,” she gasped, shocked at the thought.
Merlin nodded. “The end of the world as we know it. And if he kills you, Angeline my dear, then we are going to need someone to call the Red Hood, or we will be in even greater danger.”
She grew very still, her heart racing. And his next words cut her to the core.
“So you see, Red Hood, you must choose. Many lives may depend on it.”
4
Angeline watched Merlin disappear into the shadows between the trees, her stomach sinking like a rock. The end. The end of the Hoods, and perhaps the world as they knew it. A vampire who was after them all. The death of the Green.
And this vampire was coming for her next. Though Merlin hadn’t said as much, she’d heard it in his voice, seen it in his eyes. He’d come to warn her first, not because of the girls, but because she was in the greater danger. She was the one this vampire sought.
But perhaps he was wrong. Merlin was a man with many gifts, and one of those gifts allowed him to see into the future of someone he was physically touching. On occasion, he could even see into the future of someone he wasn’t touching. But he couldn’t see his own future. The Hoods were an extension of him, so he couldn’t see their futures, either.
But the concerned look on his face led her to believe that he thought she’d be next. Obviously he had no certainty about it, or he would have stayed and helped her slay the vampire.
Then she shook herself. She was merely being dramatic and seeing things that weren’t actually there. Perhaps he’d only come to talk about the girls after all, and he used this vampire as a spur to make her move more quickly.
But then one clear, shining idea came sprinting to the front of her mind. Merlin was right; she had to choose a successor. For if she died before another Red Hood was chosen, the brotherhood would be without not one but two Hoods. And they might not be able to recover.
“Why was Merlin here?” Adela asked suddenly from behind her.
Angeline whirled around and gasped to see her oldest daughter leaning up against a tree, like it was the most natural thing in the world to catch her mother in conversation with the ancient man. How long had she been there? How much had she seen?
What had she heard?
“You should be at your training,” she snapped before she could control her temper. “What are you doing, sneaking around like that? And spying, Adela, really? You should know better. You’re too old for that sort of behavior.”
“You can’t shelter us forever, Mother. Merlin’s right—you’re going to have to choose one of us.”
“And it should be me,” another voice added sharply.
Both Angeline and Adela spun to find Alison strolling into the small clearing from the other direction, her face a mask of arrogance and certainty.
“I am the stronger of the two of us. Adela has won all of our sparring matches, but I’m obviously more talented. I’m improving faster than she is. She’s too short. She’d never stand a chance against a werewolf. What would you do, Mother, choose a Red Hood who is destined for failure? You know better than that.”
“As if she would choose someone who can’t even get up in the morning,” Adela scoffed. “Or someone who can’t remember how to make the simplest of medicines. A werewolf would outwit you in less time than it takes for me to run the loop.” She turned her wise eyes back to her mother, considering. “I’m not going to fight with Alison over who will be Red Hood. You know that the hood will choose whom it wants. And I’ve already felt its call.”
Angeline made a sharp chopping motion with her hand, not wanting to hear any more. “That is enough. I shall choose when I decide to and not a moment earlier! And the two of you will have little to no say in the matter, is that understood? It is not for you to judge who would be best, and it is not for you to try to convince me.” She shot a swift look at Adela, wondering if the girl really had felt the hood’s call.
For if she had, it meant the decision had already been made. And not even Angeline herself had been consulted.
“I will choose within the next year,” she finished quietly. “When the hood tells me whom it will have. And not a moment earlier.”
And there it was, she thought. She would wait as long as she could, regardless of what Merlin said. She would give the girls more time to grow and learn, and perhaps display their talents more fully. Per
haps this year would bring a clearer picture, with Adela growing suddenly, or Alison becoming, well … Her mouth quirked as she sought to put a nice face on it. If Alison would just learn to control her temper and think before she acted, she would be ideal.
If not, Adela was the logical choice. And if what Adela said about the hood was true, it seemed that the hood agreed.
But she wasn’t going to make that decision today. They had time. Surely they had time. And she meant to use it.
In the distance, she could still hear the girls walking back toward the cottage, still arguing. Alison snapped that she didn’t care why Merlin had come, or what he’d wanted; his presence was unimportant in their lives. It was very like her, that inability to respect her elders. The inability to see important things when they happened.
Adela, of course, retorted that Merlin never came without reason and that he’d been there to deliver news. That they needed to know more, and that Angeline should be sharing with them rather than keeping them in the dark.
That, Angeline promised herself, would never happen. The longer she could keep the girls safe and innocent, the happier she would be. For when one or the other became Red Hood, their innocence would be over, and the two sisters might stop being friends entirely.
She didn’t think Merlin had ever considered that choosing one over the other would result in them becoming enemies, but she thought about it every day. It was a move she wouldn’t make until she had to.
FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS NEXT!
You’ve read excerpts of both the sequel and prequel to Little Red Riding Hood: Werewolf Slayer (Book One.)
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Also by Carl Waters
The Call of the Wild Werewolf
Dr. Jekyll and the Werewolf Mr. Hyde
Little Red Riding Hood: Werewolf Slayer (Book 2)
Vampire in the Woods
Burning Uncle Tom’s Cabin
About the Author
Carl Waters, born and raised in Miami, Florida, grew up reading comic books and dreamed of being a new kind of superhero. He graduated with a bachelor's degree from the University of Miami and moved to Atlanta, Georgia, where he now lives with his daughter.
Waters never forgot his childhood dreams, which over the years transformed into a desire to create new heroes, particularly African-American male heroes, through writing. His debut offering was Burning Uncle Tom's Cabin, the first book in a series that reimagines Harriet Beecher Stowe's classic novel, featuring strong characters who break out of the old stereotypes.
www.CarlWaters.com
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