by A C Bell
And that was it. The journal ended.
“What? That’s it?” I flipped through the last pages again, as if doing so would make more magically appear. “That can’t be it. How does it end?” Disappointed and a bit frustrated about having wasted all that time on a dissatisfying ending, I closed the book and decided to workout to prepare for my fitness test for the Academy.
3 Hunted
Warm afternoon sun beamed down on us, causing beads of sweat to build in my hairline. Blondes have no idea how good they have it when it comes to the sun. Having dark hair is like putting a heating pad on your head and saying “free buffet, come and get it” to the evil glowing orb in the sky. The familiar smell of rubber filled my nostrils as the sun heated the tennis court.
Nikki and Justin sat outside the court reading lines for the school play against the trunk of a tree. It had been a few days since their anniversary and he seemed to have cooled off, at least for the most part. I was surprised to see Raiden talking to them, though. Nikki was gesturing between the two as if giving introductions.
I turned once more to my opponent across the court. “Are you sure you’re ready for round two? I’d hate to own you twice today.”
“Put your racket where your mouth is and serve. Vamanos,” Peter said, pointing his racket at me. He wiped sweat from his brow, messing up his dark hair.
I got into position and took a deep breath to focus, then volleyed the ball over to him. It soared back and forth half a dozen times before Peter sent it just out of my reach. I growled and fetched it, sending it back to him with force. Peter’s attention jerked to his backpack by the chain link fence around the court and the ball whizzed by his shoulder.
“That’s my phone. Break!”
“Fine, but I’m counting that point!”
While he jaunted over to his bag, I hopped over to mine and pulled my water bottle from it. The cool liquid soothed my insides.
“Hey, we have to get going,” Nikki called over to me. Raiden was striding back toward the sidewalk.
“Okay, have fun,” I said waving to Nikki as she packed up her backpack.
“Hold on.” Justin held up a hand to ask me to stay put. “I’ll catch up,” he said to Nikki. She nodded and strolled across the grass.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Um,” Justin muttered. He ran a hand nervously through his light scruffy brown beard as he neared. “Actually, I want to talk about Nikki. Has she, uh...” Justin looped his fingers in the fence, his tan face scrunched uncomfortably as he searched for words.
“What’s wrong?”
“Has she... do you know if she’s met someone else? What about that guy who came over? That was weird.”
I nearly choked on my water. “What? Why would you ask that? That was just a guy from our Chemistry class.”
“It’s just, things have been different between us lately. She’s been pulling away and getting secretive. And then she forgot our anniversary.”
“I know, but she really wants to make that up to you. She feels terrible.”
“Well, that’s kind of a big sign. If she’s forgetting something like that, then maybe we’re not in the same place anymore.”
“Hey,” I said shooting him a stern glare. “That’s not fair. You know she loves you. This stuff happens. It sounds like you’re the one with doubts, not her. Why are you talking to me about this, anyway? You need to talk to her.”
Justin crossed his arms, mouth angrily pinched and shoulders tense. Sensing trouble, Peter trotted over to see what the fuss was about.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Back off,” Justin barked.
Peter held up his hands apologetically. Without another look at either of us, Justin slung his backpack onto his shoulder and clomped off.
Peter nudged me with his elbow. “You okay? What was that about?”
I tried to exhale my frustration out but it didn’t go away. “It’s fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright, well, I gotta go. Sorry. That was Ben, he needs help with something back home.”
I frowned. “Is he okay?”
Peter nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
We hugged and he rocked us side to side to make me laugh. “Alright, go on,” I said amidst chuckles.
“Okay, okay. We’ll pick this up tomorrow. Then your pride is mine, Parker.”
“Fat chance, De la Cruz.”
✽✽✽
The motor of Peter’s old Honda chugged to a clunky stop as he eased his foot down on the brake. The ignition seemed to sigh in relief when he turned it off after his three-hour drive. His parent’s house hadn’t changed in years. They lived a ways out of town for privacy and space to run. A battered wrap around porch surrounded the single-story home. The white paint was chipping off the wood paneling and the red painted door frame and window frames had all faded to a muddy brown over the years. The grass was lush and green, but Ben had apparently been shirking his duty to mow the lawn.
Ben was sitting on the porch steps, waiting for Peter’s arrival. “You need to look at your engine,” the twerp said with a smirk as Peter climbed out.
“You mean it’s not supposed to make that sound?” Peter sassed as he strutted up the walk.
Ben stood to hug his brother. “You should get Adeline to fix it for you,” he teased.
Peter clamped him with a hug and then thumped him hard on the back. “Forget the car, where’s this problem?”
Ben lead him around the side of the house, toward the woods. Their mom’s garden was flourishing, despite the late season, though the plump squash sat deep in the soil. Peter paused to flip them and scoot them over so the undersides wouldn’t deteriorate from too much moisture. Ben made an exaggerated show of impatience.
“Niño de mama.”
Peter finished and stood to slug his brother’s shoulder. “At least I’m not a lazy slacker.”
Ben turned to march for the forest. “Just come on.” No retaliation for the punch? He must be really worried. “I heard of a few family dogs going missing in Lemke down south a few weeks ago and now I keep finding dead wildlife around here. Dad says it’s probably nothing, but it don’t sit right with me.”
“Doesn’t,” Peter corrected him. He ignored the glare Ben shot him. “So, what kind of game has been killed?”
“Funny you should say that. Most of them weren’t eaten. It’s like something is killing them for fun. A lot of deer and even a moose.”
Peter pursed his lips. “That definitely points to a human culprit. Only people are twisted enough to kill for fun, as if slaughtering animals that, for the most part don’t even fight back because they’re terrified somehow makes the hunter ‘powerful’. And yet somehow, when the animal does fight back and hurts someone, the animal still gets blamed!”
“I’ve heard your ‘hunters are stupid’ spiel before, Pete,” Ben complained.
Peter rolled his eyes and sprinted the rest of the way across the expansive backyard. He and Ben trekked through the woods for twenty minutes, finding the rotting corpses of deer and elk and some smaller game like foxes or coyotes. The air, rank with death, set Peter’s instincts on edge. Then a scent caught Peter’s attention. Blood and a lot of it.
Ben whistled for Peter’s attention and he veered right to follow him. There were definite signs of a struggle. A cluster of browning wild berry bushes had been trampled to the ground, followed by a clear trail of decimated foliage. Whatever had caused it had been big and bulky. A bear? Could that be what was causing so much trouble? Though he could see no reason for a bear to kill and then leave as many carcasses uneaten as they’d seen.
Peter followed the trail, finding no clearly identifiable footprints amidst the flattened shrubbery. There were spots of blood here and there from a fight, but nothing to explain the foul copper stench in the humid air. Finally, he came upon a wide patch of mud amidst the destruction. Footprints from two differ
ent creatures were clawed into the ground, the first unmistakable; a large bear, maybe a grizzly? The second were the footprints of a huge man, way bigger than even Peter’s size twelve narrows. Also unmistakable were the claws.
“Cynephi,” Peter muttered. Ben inhaled sharply behind him.
He took out his phone, snapping pictures of everything. More alarming than the prints was the wide spatter of blood that directly followed the fight scene and pooled into the crevices and prints in the mud. The stink of urine and feces filled the air. The bear had fled in fear for its life.
Peter stopped. “I’m gonna change.” He said quietly over his shoulder.
He moved behind a tree for privacy and quickly undressed. He bit down on a wax rod in anticipation of the pain. The change started in his face and he resisted the urge to cry out as his muzzle and forehead began to reshape. Every hair across his body thickened and grew longer. His muscles and bones flared with fire and agony as he forced the Change quickly through his body. When it was done, he took a few moments to breathe while his quick healing ebbed the pain in his muscles. He spat out the now broken pieces of the wax rod and shook himself the way a dog does to dry off. Wagging his bushy tailed, he marched around the tree to greet his brother as a wolf.
Ben let out an impressed whistle, looking up from his phone. “37 seconds. Doesn’t it hurt to do it that fast?” Speedy Changes were a specialty of Peter’s and Ben liked to time him.
Peter gave a harumph and returned his attention to the problem while Ben scooped up his clothes. Peter gave the trail a wide berth and followed carefully, slowly, listening in for signs of movement among the foliage. He could smell more clearly now and caught whiff of a cynocephalus in the air, but it was faint. He’d been gone for quite a while. Thick streams of blood blotted the makeshift path and every twenty feet or so there were signs of another struggle. Why waste energy to keep attacking the bear? It was clearly going to die of blood loss anyway. It’s not like bears were safe to eat. Only one answer made sense. For fun.
When Peter finally found the body, his heart ached for the poor creature. The grizzly lay slumped in the damp earth, curled fearfully in on itself. Gashes raked its body, its fur soaked with blood. Peter moved closer, leaning his head close to its chest. No breathing, no heartbeat. At least it wasn’t in pain anymore. He lowered himself to the ground and set his snout between his front paws, mourning this cruel and pointless death.
A hand patted his head between his ears. He looked up at Ben, whose face was morose. “I’m sorry, Pete.” He set Peter's clothes by a bush and pulled his own phone out to snap some pictures for proof for the authorities.
Peter sat still and let the breeze rustle his fur, listening to the rustling of dying leaves. Something crunched off in the distance, too distinct to be the wind. Peter pushed to his feet and slunk around the deceased at a crouch. He scanned the eastern woods and sniffed the air, but they were downwind. His heart pounded. If it was the cynephi, he wouldn’t be able to take it on alone and Ben would be in an even worse position to fight it. Did they have time to flee?
Something caught Peter’s eye in the distance. Fifty yards off, the sun glinted off of something, twinkling brightly. Vaguely, he saw a head move behind it. A jolt of panic shot through him. Was he looking at the dead bear, or at Peter? Peter dashed for the spot where Ben had stashed his clothing.
“No!” Ben shouted.
As Peter lunged for the bushes, Ben jumped between him and the hunter. A shot rang through the forest a split second later and Ben screamed. He knocked into Peter as he fell to the ground. Peter tumbled beneath the prickly bush and instantly started to Change. A glance at Ben at least told him he was alive, crying out in pain through his teeth. Where had he been hit? Peter forced himself through the Change faster than he should have and agony ripped through him as his body reshaped itself back into human form. He screamed, too. He wasn’t even completely done—his face was still reforming—when he scrambled back out to throw his pants on. The dead branches scratched at his back but adrenaline kept him from feeling it much.
“Ben!” Peter shouted, darting back around the bushes. He fell beside his little brother, who was gripping his shoulder, his face contorted in pain. Peter tied a knot into his shirt and set it above the bullet hole. Ben cried out when Peter tied it around his shoulder, but the knot would help staunch the blood, at least a little. “I’m sorry, Ben,” Peter muttered desperately.
Loud rustling indicated that three people were running toward them. “Bill, you shot a kid!” A man yelled.
Peter spun on them. “Get back! Get the hell back!”
All three men halted beneath the venom in his snarl. “I’m sorry, I was trying to hit the wolf!” The guy insisted.
“Shove it!” Peter barked. He draped Ben’s other arm over his shoulders and hoisted Ben to his feet as carefully as he could.
“What hospital you goin’ to?”
“Boston memorial!”
Their mom worked as a receptionist there, so Ben would be guaranteed a supernatural doctor. He couldn’t be treated by a regular doctor, who would notice the rapid healing. Still, at best it was forty minutes from the house.
✽✽✽
“Mom?” Peter called into the front room of the hospital as the doors slid open. He’d called her on the way to let her know they were coming in. Ben paused inside, hunching and grimacing as a wave of pain shot through his arm. Peter kept a firm grip on the arm draped over his shoulders to hold Ben upright.
Nahamina darted from behind the desk. “Page Dr. Berns, please,” she asked the other receptionist. “GSW!” She hollered down the hall. “What happened?” She asked Peter as she sprinted over, her chocolate eyes wide with worry.
“A hunter shot him by mistake,” He explained as several people rushed over. One of them took Peter’s place and helped Ben to an approaching gurney. “He asked what hospital we were going to, so he should be coming.”
“Did you get his name, just in case?”
Peter dug one of his useless hands through his hair. “No, I’m sorry.”
“What if he doesn’t come in? What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t! I was focused on Ben!” he said desperately, waving toward his brother as he was carted off. Logically, he knew Ben would be okay. There was no reason for a shoulder injury to be fatal, but logic has little room to come in when fear takes over. What if the bullet had hit just a few inches to the right?
“Okay, okay.” Nahamina pulled him into her arms. “It’ll be okay.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he said, holding her tight.
The doors slid open behind them. “Kid!” The hunter hurried in, breathing hard. “I’m so sorry, kid,” he said between breaths. “What can I do?”
“This is him?” Nahamina verified with Peter, who nodded. She turned dark eyes on the man. “What’s your name?”
“Bill Harris.”
“Bill Harris, I’ll be calling the police to report this, so expect to have your license revoked at the least.”
“I-I didn’t see him. He just jumped in the way. Why did he jump in the way?”
“He was protecting a living creature that you were trying to kill,” Peter spat, moving threateningly toward the man.
Nahamina held his arms and he stayed put, allowing her gentle hands to calm him. Her grip tightened as she must have pieced together what had happened. “Have a seat,” she instructed the man coldly. “Come on, Peter.” She steered Peter away to the waiting room and nudged him to sit.
“He was trying to shoot you.”
Peter nodded in confirmation and lowered his head to his knees. His mom rubbed his back soothingly. He took a calming breath that helped ease the tension in his chest.
“What were you doing out there?”
“Ben’s been worried about some animals he’s found dead. He wanted to show me.”
“Why didn’t he tell your father?”
“He did. I guess Dad thinks Ben’s overreacting.”
> “I’ll talk to him when we get home.”
Peter nodded distractedly. His mind had gone back to the forest. To the trail of blood that had marked the bear's retreat. He frowned at the floor. “We all need to be careful, Mom. We found a dead grizzly in the woods. There was blood everywhere. Whoever did this… they tortured that bear.”
4 The Gun
I was roused from sleep in the middle of the night by rustling at the door. I cracked my heavy eyelids apart, my attention drawn to the only source of light in the otherwise dark room. Nikki quietly pushed the door shut and found her way to the desk by the light of her phone. Something that sounded like paper crackled under her arm. The red numbers on the alarm clock over on the dresser told me it was past 1 a.m. What was she doing awake? Or out for that matter?
“Nikki?” I asked groggily, turning on the lamp. Nikki jumped at my voice and frantically grabbed hold of the white paper bag in her hands when she nearly dropped it. Was it a pharmacy bag?
“What are you doing?” I squinted through the light from the lamp, regretting the decision to turn it on.
“Sorry, I was trying not to wake you,” she said with a chortle. Then she opened the bottom right drawer of the desk and stuffed the bag inside. “Justin wanted to go out for a late-night snack and then I ran to the pharmacy for some Neosporin. I can feel my eczema starting to act up.”
“Oh.” I fell back onto my pillow but left the light on so she could see. While she changed in the bathroom, I stared at the ceiling with a sinking feeling in my gut. Justin had noted that she had been acting secretive, but I knew she hadn’t met another guy, as he feared. Even taking my bias and trust toward her out of the equation, she simply wasn’t acting like someone who was having an affair. If anything, she seemed wary and on edge.
The shwash of the toilet drew my attention back to the room and the mechanism in the bathroom door knob clanged loudly in the silence as Nikki pulled it open. Dressed in flannel and cotton, Nikki pulled her covers back and nestled comfortably inside her maroon cocoon.
