Wild Spirit: Huntress

by Victoria Wren

  “To be mindful,” Evan answered from her position on the floor.

  Rowan bobbed her head in agreement. “Maybe now isn’t a good time to be running off to the forest. Things are happening to you—big changes. And he only seems to make you more...feisty.” Rowan paused on the last word as if choosing it carefully. “And, what Grandpa said is true—you know so little about him.”

  Win thought she didn’t know the half of it. Right now, it was taking every inch of her willpower to stay here with them and not run off to seek him out. The draw was irresistible, palpable, like ants clawing at her skin. Her grandpa was right. She was a hothead. And to make matters worse, Grayson had kissed her. She’d felt him pressed against her, his body, his heat, and she wanted more. Win tapped her fingers on her knees irritably. When she glanced up, Evan had been staring at her, a knowing smile on her face. Win blushed and looked away.

  “So, how about you, Evan?” Win was determined to take the attention off of herself; she felt like a bug in a petri dish. “How do you know so much about all of this?”

  Rowan scowled. “Don’t be so rude!”

  “It's fine, don’t worry.” Evan waved her hand. Outside, the sky was growing thick and black with clouds, patters of rain streaking the glass windows. “As I said—I know some stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “My tribe were an offshoot of the old Atoloas who famously lived here before the British invasion. Like them, they were peaceful people, incredibly spiritual…the family I grew up with talked of your kind—the Therian— as easily as you would talk about spirits or vampires. It was very much part of the culture.”

  Win laughed. “But those things don’t exist.” Rowan and Evan exchanged worried looks, and Win’s stomach dropped. “Do they?”

  “We can’t know for sure, but if Therian are real… there is every chance other things could be.”

  Win let it sink in for a moment, every monster she could think popping into her head. She shook it off, her shoulders trembling. “So this call…this scream you heard? You think it was me?”

  “We all heard it Win,” Rowan said. “It wasn’t a scream…it was a growl. It came from inside you somewhere deep. It was primal.”

  “It woke me up.” Evan smiled, gently easing closer to Win, knowing she must sound insane. “I went to Boston to get away from my upbringing. I had been in a bad relationship…there is a lot of pressure being the head of a tribal family, especially a prominent one like ours. I was trained to look for the unusual. To hear things other people couldn’t. To listen to spirits.” She laughed, her eyes far away. “To be a healer was my job, to always give part of myself away. When my mom died, the pressure got heavier. I was a matriarch. I wanted to get away.”

  She swallowed visibly, her emission seeming to tire her. She lifted her chin, taking a deep inhale. “I was working in Boston, and I heard you…across the channels. You were in my head. You snapped me out of my fog, the stuff I’d been avoiding. It was unavoidable. And I knew I had to come here.”

  “Why? I mean, why me? And not Rowan?”

  Evan blushed, a pretty smile spreading across her face. “Rowan was an unexpected surprise.”

  “I think it’s because you are the last of us,” Rowan answered Win’s thoughts. “And for some reason, you seem to be changing more rapidly than I did…even Grandpa or Mom. And I’ve never seen the blue spark thing before.”

  Win covered her eyes with her hands, comforted by the small amount of darkness. “The vision…I had it again. The metal door. I thought it was because of Iris. Is it because of the old ones? The ones we can’t find. Are they going to keep taunting me until I find them?”

  “It could be,” Evan spoke softly as the rain thundered against the windows. “But all Rowan, your dad, and your grandpa want is for you to come through this change safely. I want that too.”

  Win let her hands drop into her lap. Evan was smiling, and Win nodded slowly, not sure she was buying all of her story yet. They’d only just met, and already she was acting motherly. Win shook it off, and if Rowan trusted her…

  “Sure.” Win smiled thinly. “I’ll be good. But Grandpa…I need to make things right.”

  Both Evan and Rowan got to their feet. Evan hooked her thumbs in her jean pockets. “We’ll look for him, don’t worry.”

  Win made to protest, but Rowan took a section of each end of the blanket, firmly wrapping around Win’s wiry frame. “The only thing you need to do is sleep. Stay here…read a book, take a bath. Leave this to us. You need to rest.”

  Reluctantly, Win watched as they left, Evan by car and Rowan by air. Standing on the porch steps, she waited, her eyes scanning the treeline. The trees parted, a giant eagle soaring through the canopy, making a low, deep swoop over the roof before flying away, the clouds threatening to rain down on her. On sore feet, Win hobbled upstairs and did what she was told. She stood under the shower for ten minutes, letting the soapy lather run down her legs, the water warm, soothing her tired, aching calves. When she closed her eyes and her thoughts strayed to Grayson, she made sure she gave herself a quick cold blast, the memory of their kiss still lingering in her mind.

  When she returned to her room, her bedclothes were in disarray; the box left closed on her dresser. She bundled into a light sweater and shorts, crawling under the covers.

  “Yeah, you did such a great job with Iris…she’s dead!”

  Win buried her head under her pillow. How could she have been so cruel? How could she even say those things? What on earth was wrong with her?

  The rain flew up off the pavement, soaking through the woman’s sandals as she struggled to push the sale cart of heavy books back inside the store. She hissed as the cart bumped over the threshold, stubbing her toe and the heavy glass door swinging into her backside. It clattered shut, and Jennifer Riley stood rigid, rainwater dripping off her sundress. She shook it off in annoyance, snapping the ‘closed’ sign over. No one really ever came down here much in the summer months; Jennifer was used to shutting early, especially in the midst of what looked like a brewing storm. She busied herself around the shop, tidying the books and dusting over the tables. Jennifer jerked as a huge bolt of lightning lit up the front of the shop, followed by a deep rumble of thunder.

  Shivering, she shut off the lights, hurriedly grabbing the keys from the break room as the bell above the door clanged.

  “We’re closed,” she called out haughtily, sliding her arms into her jacket. Met with silence, she walked back into the darkened shop only to find it empty. Jennifer blinked and rubbed her arms, trying to ignore the chill creeping up her neck. “Is someone here?”

  No one answered, and she brushed off her anxiety. She made to cross over the shiny wooden floor, keys in hand, when she was grabbed from behind. A large, hot hand covered her mouth and nose. She twisted and jerked against a warm body, holding her so hard his fingers dug into the tender flesh of her upper arms. She squealed, forced backward, her heels sliding across the polished floor. Her head cracked against the bookshelf, titles tumbling down as her attacker, whirled her around to face him, his grip unrelenting. He was wet, half-naked and his upper body pinning her in place. He looked like he’d been running through the woods.

  “Jennifer.” John Hickory’s face was inches from her, his bright emerald eyes burning into hers. “Now, don’t scream. We are old friends, remember?”

  Oh, she remembered. She knew everything about him and his cursed family. He still looked the same, rugged, handsome, the same as the day he’d turned up at Furlows in his beaten-up truck to finish his senior year. She’d been seventeen, and like every girl on campus, she’d wanted him. It was impossible not to. Even then, he must have been nearing middle age, passing easily as a teenager. Jennifer knew this little fact after stealing birth certificates from the town hall years later.

  The Hickory family were notoriously secretive; it was hard to find much on them, born and raised on the plot and kept away from civ
ilization. Moody, aloof and argumentative, he was the gorgeous bad boy. But he’d never looked at her, not once, preferring her best friend Gloria at the time, a woman he’d ended up marrying.

  Jennifer breathed rapidly against his hand, curling her fist around his strong forearm pinning her there against the shelf. He narrowed his eyes at her. “It’s time we caught up, Jen, don’t you think?” he growled, and her legs shook.

  “What do you want?” she spat. He was too near, his scent too overwhelming. He smelled like pine needles and leaves.

  “I know Jen,” he said, his growl emitting from his chest. “About your boy.”

  Jennifer blinked rapidly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You took my boy away…remember John?” She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes dim for a moment, a memory surfacing.

  “I’m not talking about him,” he spat. “The other boy.”

  Jennifer gritted her teeth, a half-crazed smile crossing her lips. “You mean the one you maimed? He’s dead, John…he died years ago.”

  John shook his head. “You are a goddamn liar.”

  “I don’t have anyone. I’m alone. You saw to that!”

  He gave her a shake, curling his hand around her delicate white neck, his thumb stroked over the tender space across her windpipe. She swallowed against it helplessly. “John…”

  “Your son is out there…you tell him to stay the hell away from my granddaughter.” He sniffed the side of her face, his breath rustling her hair, and had the satisfaction of feeling her quiver.

  “I told you, he’s dead!” she babbled. “Like my Henry.”

  “You want to throw some blame around? We can talk about my mother if you like…the one, your father, shot dead?”

  Jennifer struggled against him, his knee wedged between her legs, preventing her from going anywhere. She panted. “That was a long time ago. You think you are so above everyone else…goddamn Hickory’s and their curse…you think we all don’t know what you are!”

  He shook her hard enough to make her gasp. “He killed my mother.”

  “You killed my son!” she cried; the strangulation in her voice was enough to make him loosen his grip. His eyes flashed, and he pulled back.

  “I’m only going to say this once, Jennifer,” he said through gritted teeth. “Keep your boy away from my granddaughter…Oh, I know it's him! Don’t even bother trying to protest. If I catch him near her again…I’ll give him more than a scar.”

  He pulled away; she wrapped her arms across her chest as he stalked out of the back of the store. Dimly she realized he must have snuck past her through the back, lying in wait for her in the dark while she’d been distracted bringing the cart in. Sagging against the shelf, her knees buckled, and she sank to her bottom.

  She shook, at first with the ebbing adrenaline, but soon it was replaced with bitter resentment. He still thought he was untouchable after all these years. But she had been watching. And he would pay for what he took from her. She pushed away the memory the moment she found her precious boy dead and bleeding into the brook. And Grayson, so weak, so fragile, the way he’d screamed for his brother.

  Weakly, Jennifer got to her feet, the realization Grayson had been lying hit her. Lying right to her face. It was a shame he was too big to punish now, not like the old days where he was locked in the room with the beasts. She’d always left him long enough to keep him pliable until he was dizzy from exhaustion, begging for water. He always did as he was told.

  Staggering across the store, Jennifer locked up, pressing her forehead lightly against the glass, exhaling, letting her stale breath fog.

  She needed to have a talk with her son.

  Thirteen

  RAIN FELL IN sheets, pinging off the old, rusting machinery in the yard. Win huddled into her sweater, her bare legs misted as she stood on the porch, arms folded against the chill in the air. Inside, the smell of pepperoni wafted out through the windows. Ben, Evan, and Rowan were unpacking the takeout. After a long, fruitless search for John, it seemed no one felt like cooking. Chin resting on her shoulder, Win cast a glance back to the kitchen, briefly catching Evan’s eye as she set the table.

  Win bit her lip, smiled, and looked back out to the yard, carefully scanning the forest, the trees bending and swaying in the wind. Evan made her uncomfortable, but she fought off waves of unease. She was Rowan’s girlfriend and deserved a fair chance.

  He’ll be back, she assured herself, tapping her feet lightly to keep from getting too wet while staying in one place. Win’s stomach swirled, even the smell of pizza couldn’t tempt her to eat. She’d slept most of the afternoon, her dreams fractured and tangled. Every time she opened her eyes, her cruel words came back to her. She had phantom pains, her gums still sore and aching. Mentally she had prepared herself to confront him, to beg forgiveness, but she sickened at the thought of it.

  “Win, come inside,” Ben called from the kitchen window.

  Win huffed. “Not yet.”

  “Starving yourself isn’t going to make him appear, you know,” he chided.

  No, but I deserve to hurt after what I said. She paced the porch steps, finally settling on the bottom step, where she tucked the wooden box under her feet. A familiar waft of movement startled her out of her daze; she had been concentrating so hard on the forest she hadn’t noticed the falcon land beside her. It hopped across the wood, onto her shoulder. Win smiled grimly.

  “He does like to hold a grudge,” Win muttered, low enough so only the bird could hear.

  He wouldn’t ever turn against you, Win.

  “You didn’t hear what I said.” She shook her head, her red curls tumbling over her eyes. She wrung her hands. “I hurt him.”

  Yes. But he lost his temper. You should have seen him when he found out I was dating your father. He worries…and doesn’t want to lose anyone else.

  When Win didn’t reply, the bird nudged her. You did good. You found Iris.

  Win’s eyes welled up. “But…this means he’ll be able to rest now. That he’ll die.”

  Does it look like he’s going anywhere yet? You’ve got time. Win’s throat felt raw, she ducked her head, resting her head on her knees, and she sniffed. The bird narrowed its beady eyes, cocking its head.

  You know he isn’t entirely wrong. Maybe you shouldn’t see Grayson for a while.

  Win lifted her head as the bird nestled closer to her face. “You know his name?”

  I hear things. Your grandpa is right, though, Win. You don’t know enough about him. And he knows an awful lot about us.

  The rock, which had settled in Win’s gut, rolled and made her want to gag. She pictured Grayson’s face. He would pretend he didn’t mind, that he wouldn’t miss her. But she knew he would be crushed. She’d be able to tell by his eyes the shift in his expression. Win let her head loll, but a sound from the bushes made her snap to attention. Her back stiffened as John wandered out of the woods, his arms swinging, his strides massive as he walked through torrents of rain.

  Not knowing what to do with her hands, Win stood, awkward as he approached. The falcon lifted into the air, her grandfather giving it a curt nod before it swooped across the trees. He locked eyes with Win, grumbling, awkward himself as he stopped short of the porch steps.

  Win picked up the box gently, the contents still wrapped tightly in cloth. She held out the box, her hands trembling. John looked at it hard for a long time before taking it. He rubbed his fingers over the wooden edge.

  Win stepped closer out of the shelter of the porch, her hair quickly plastering to her forehead. Her words tried to make their way clear of her throat, but emotion gathered there, she forced it back down. “I’m so…so sorry, Grandpa.”

  Soaked through, he placed the box at his feet and grabbed her in a fierce embrace. Win wept against his bare shoulder, arms circling his waist. He buried his face in her hair, and they didn’t move for the longest time. When Win felt empty from crying, he gently pushed her back, lo
oking down at her fondly.

  “You found my sister,” he said, tenderly tracing his thumb over her brow bone. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”

  “I’m sorry for what I said. I wasn’t thinking…you are right. I won’t see him anymore.”

  He chuckled sadly, his eyes creasing. “I know what I’m asking of you is hard. But you have to trust me on this. Stay away from him.”

  “Grandpa….”

  “I mean it, Win! I know it’s exciting, dancing with fire. But this fire would consume us all. He knows more about us than he’s ever let on, and what’s worse, you never asked the questions. You’ve fallen in blind, and willing. Just…let things settle. Promise me!”

  Win looked away, a guilty blush creeping up her neck. Even though it hurt to agree to this, she nodded, sniffing up tears. She changed the subject. “What are you going to do about Iris?”

  John eyed the box at his feet. “I’ll keep her safe with me for now. But when the time comes…well…your dad knows what to do.”

  “Robert Fraser should be charged for what he did,” Win said through gritted teeth. “She was there the whole time Grandpa. A prisoner. We should tell the police?”

  He laughed softly. “I can only imagine how that would go down. I’ve been through it before, Win. I got myself locked up a few times, confronting him. It would cast eyes on the rest of us.”

  “So, Iris can’t have any justice?” Win narrowed her eyes. “It’s not fair. That monster got to live to a ripe old age, and she was locked in an attic.”

  “We have to let go of the past, Win.” He held her shoulders. “Besides, think of your friend Luke…his family. Hasn’t he been through enough? I’ve thought about it, and an investigation would bring the family back here and into our lives…and Rowan’s. I like them where they are, five thousand miles away!”

  She didn’t want to fight him again. But there was so much wrongdoing. So much misery caused, and people were hurt—her family. And the lost ones, the ones who couldn’t return home, who would help them? Souls locked in an animal body. The wolf in the museum. Frozen in time and forced to watch the world turn from behind a pane of glass. It was sad and unjust.