by Reed, Zoe
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2013 by Zoe Reed
www.facebook.com/Author.ZoeReed
Acknowledgements
As always, I owe an enormous deal of thanks to Nicholaus Williams, who’s always so quick, diligent, and thorough in the work he does for me that publishing would seem an almost impossible task without him. I must also give a grateful shout out to my mother, Jenny, and her wonderful wife, Lisa, for always giving their most thoughtful input to my late-night questions of “how does this sound” or “what do you think of that”. Publishing is never a one-man job, and I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you guys.
Phantoms of
the Otherworld
Preface
Greg sat on the park bench in his black suit and tie and stared out over the dark river in Portland, Oregon. The moonlight glittered silver and white over the small ridges of the current, and the breeze carried the sweet smell of the water to his nose. His mouth turned up in a sad, reminiscent smile as he remembered all the fond memories of his mother bringing he and his siblings here when they were young. Every Saturday they packed a picnic basket of fruit, cheese, and a loaf of bread. Half the loaf always went to the hungry ducks, which, after weeks of visits, grew comfortable enough to eat from their hands. He wiped a tear from his cheek. Having just left his mother’s funeral, this was where he wanted her memory to lie.
Standing up, Greg grabbed the lotus flowers and small urn from off the bench next to him and walked to the canal’s edge. He and each of his siblings had been given a bit of his mother’s ashes to either keep or rest in a place of fondness. Reaching the stone lining of the water, he knelt and unscrewed the vine-patterned lid, taking a last, long look at the stars reflected on the glassy garnish of the channel. He slowly cascaded the water with the ashes before laying the lilies on the surface and saying a last goodbye.
A small breeze picked up as he rose, and even through his thick overcoat the hairs on his arms and neck stood on end. At first he thought it was the breeze, but he was used to the cold. It was something else. He felt like he was being watched. He twisted to squint into the darkness, and after a minute of staring the feeling of paranoia subsided, and he shook off the chill.
With a final look across the water, Greg turned and started his walk home. Or was he going home? Going home to be alone. Granted, it was getting late, but home was the last place he wanted to be. The nearest bar was a bit farther of a walk than his house, but it was one he could tough out. While he meandered he hummed a sad tune to himself, giving small smiles to the few passersby. A couple blocks later he waited for a taxi to pass before crossing the street, and then headed toward the bar at the end of the road.
Except for the lights outside the bar and the dim lamps that seemed to randomly litter the way, it was dark. Perhaps the darkest street he’d strolled yet. He laughed while, as he strode toward the bar, he could see a couple of drunkards goofing off outside, making fools of themselves for the attention of a girl that leaned against the wall. After a few more steps he recognized one of them as an old family friend.
Greg was about to holler his friend’s name when he stopped walking and turned his head. Down the alley to his left he could hear crying. It sounded like a woman.
“Hello?” The feeling of paranoia returned, his hairs again standing on end, but he told himself to man up. This girl could be hurt. “Hello,” he called again, greeted still by the quiet sobbing.
Pulling out his cell phone, he used it to illuminate the way into the dark alley. He was about halfway through when he could see a small woman leaned against the front of a large trash bin. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and she had her arms wrapped around them, sobbing with her head down.
“Hey, are you okay?” He continued forward cautiously until he was standing directly in front of her. The small, pale, blonde looked up at him with bright, tear-filled blue eyes. “Are you hurt?” He knelt beside her and waited patiently for her to answer. Through the stench of the garbage he could smell what he assumed was her – a sweet, vanilla aroma that flooded his senses, and in any other situation he might’ve made an attempt at flirting.
“No,” she answered in a soft voice, barely audible.
“What’s your name?”
The woman looked up at him shyly, boring into his eyes before she answered, “Cynthia.”
He carefully held out his hand for her to take, and then helped lift her off the ground. “Well, Cynthia, let’s get you out of here?”
She nodded and let him lead her toward the entrance of the alley. They were about twenty feet from the street when a man stepped in front of them, blocking their exit. Greg hesitated for a split second before confidently leading Cynthia forward.
“Excuse me sir.” He stared at the ground and tried to politely sidestep the man, who moved again into his path.
Greg looked up into the man’s eyes. He wasn’t tall, about the same height as Greg, who was only five foot nine himself. Nor was he muscular. But his dark eyes stood out against his pale skin, and conveyed a cold emptiness that sent a shiver down Greg’s spine. He felt Cynthia’s grip tighten on his arm, and assuming she was afraid he tried to sidestep the man again. He soon realized Cynthia wasn’t clutching him for comfort. She was making sure he didn’t go anywhere, holding him in place, and she held onto him with an almost supernatural strength. His heart skipped, and an overwhelming knot of fear settled in his gut. He frantically shook his arm free of the girl, and took a step backward while his eyes darted from side to side, deciding which way he’d have the biggest chance of escaping if he needed to bolt.
Cynthia greeted the man with a smile, and took stride beside him as they advanced on Greg, pushing him farther and farther into the alley. As he realized his only escape route was blocked, his mind started racing. His brothers, his sister, his father, would he never see them again? The newspapers. His mind flashed to the local paper. Over the past few weeks there had been a spike in the number of kidnappings, and not just women – men, some of them large men. His back hit a wall as he reached the end of the alley, and the two continued to close in on him. Both Cynthia and the man smiled evil grins, sharp, bright white teeth glowing in the dark night. Against the cold air he felt something hot run down his leg, and seconds later the stench of urine reached his nose.
“Coward.” The frightening man’s deep, ringing voice cut through the silence as he chuckled.
Greg tried to think of anything else but this. To turn his mind somewhere happy, somewhere he could escape to, but it returned to the newspaper. How many people had been reported missing? Eleven, and not a single body or survivor had been found. He closed his eyes and felt a cold hand press hard against his mouth, stopping him if he tried to scream. Eleven people had been taken, and he would be the twelfth.
Crouched as low to the ground as I could get in the Dolan’s wheat field, I held my breath against the cold night and pricked my wolf ears forward. No more than thirty feet in front of me I could hear the tiniest crackling of semi-frozen twigs in rhythm with a slow stride. With minimal progression I crawled a few paces, using the weight of my body to muffle any crackling sounds I may have made with my own paws. The rustling was getting closer. Luckily what little breeze that blew wasn’t coming from behind me. I was hunkered downwind, and my scent wasn’t going anywhere near my target. Not only was the wind on my side, but I also had the advantage of camouflage – my golden brown fur matched perfectly with the wheat.
Just a little closer… I urged my mark to take the last few steps that would bring it in striking distance. Finally. Teeth flashed in a wolfish grin as my back and should
ers tensed, paws digging into the dirt, preparing for the pounce. The rustling stopped, as if detecting my presence. Releasing all the tension in my muscles I leapt, the white wolf noticing me a second too late. I crashed down on its back, sending us tumbling through the field. I had the upper hand in catching it off guard, but because the wolf was smaller and had so much more experience it was able to wriggle out of my grasp and knock me off my clumsy feet, pinning me to the ground.
A big smile reached Luna’s hazel eyes, as she remained champion. I gave a defeated sigh and rolled out from under her hold. I understood now why Camille had so many tiny scars on her arms. While Luna and I had only been play fighting and romping around for less than a minute, I could already feel the slight sting of a few bite marks on my limbs. I instinctively ran my tongue down one front leg, too busy cleaning my little wounds to notice Luna, who came running at me, lightheartedly but roughly head-butting me and sending me rolling in the opposite direction. I heard the crashing of her paws disappearing across the field and swiftly got up to bound after her.
Upon bursting out of the wheat field I could see the blur of white sprinting ahead of me. I was closer than I thought. I jammed my paws harder into the ground, pushing forward with more powerful strides to try and catch up. It wasn’t long until I nearly did, and with one last strike I crouched and sprung into the air, flying at the white wolf. But the second I jumped the wolf hit the brakes, and I went soaring over Luna’s head only to hit the ground ahead of her, spiraling repeatedly head over heels. Once I finished wheeling across the dirt and came to a stop Luna pranced over, jumping and nipping at me gloatingly. The smaller wolf stopped when I growled at her, and a blink later took off, leaving me to chase once again. It required all my strength to catch up, but instead of pouncing when I did I just ran at my companion’s side.
It didn’t take long until we were in our own field of grape vines, and a minute later we sauntered onto the front porch, gulping frosty air into our burning lungs. I casually trotted to the clothes I had folded and laid on the deck and which now, as I touched them with my nose, I could feel were as freezing as the air.
Luna had promptly Changed back, and was already pulling on her own icy clothes. “Got to love winter, huh?”
I huffed my sarcastic agreement and then Phased. Without my thick fur to keep me warm I could already feel the cold seeping to my bones, and pulling on frigid clothes didn’t help one bit.
“You’re really getting good,” Luna praised excitedly as I followed her into the kitchen of her house.
“Eh,” I shook my head humbly. “You’re still the champ. I can’t even keep you on the ground long enough to pin you.”
“Hey, Camille,” Luna greeted her twin sister, who was rummaging through the refrigerator, as she sat at the table and shrugged with equal modesty. “Yeah, but I didn’t even hear you coming. Once you get better at your pinning technique, you’ll be unstoppable!”
“Where’d you guys go?” Camille sat down at the table with us, directing her question more at Luna than at me.
I avoided making eye contact with her, knowing she probably wouldn’t look at me anyway, and instead glanced at the smaller of the twins. It had been two months since I’d been Changed, and Camille still hadn’t forgiven me for having to break up with her. I understood that it had to have been painful for her, and assumed that maybe she was afraid of it happening again. While I was willing to wait the rest of my long life for her to forgive me, I’d been hoping I wouldn’t have to.
Over the past months it was Camille who’d been teaching me how to control my Changes. Even though we’d slowly been recuperating our relationship to friendship, it was still awkward between us. I could admit it was due in large part to my mood swings and angry outbursts. Being a werewolf made all my emotions and instincts more acute, and while I learned how to control them I was prone to frustration tantrums. Unfortunately for Camille and I’s relationship, it was almost always her who was at the receiving end of my fits.
I tried to hide a frown as I remembered one of my worst spells. I’d learned to Phase when I wanted to, but couldn’t stop it when I didn’t want to. Camille had been trying to get me close to the edge when I lost control of myself. Because she thought I had more restraint than I really did, she didn’t back up in time, and I bit her on the hand. I’d let go as quickly as I could when I realized how out of line I’d been, but the damage was done, and she’d needed stitches. I’d almost died of guilt, and wanted so badly for her to bite back sometime, or at the very least get mad. But she’d just shrugged it off and said we’d try again in a few days.
My eyes led me to the pink scar on the back of Camille’s hand. Even though it was a couple weeks ago, the mark still appeared fresh. Or maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me, amping up the damage so I’d have a reasonable symbol of my guilt. Her hand disappeared under the table, and I looked up to see that she’d caught me staring at it. I stiffly cleared my throat and stood to get a glass of water.
“You really should’ve come this time, Cami.” Luna was still talking about our night as I sat back down. “Kyla’s getting really good. I bet she could hold her own even against you.”
Camille let the corner of her mouth turn up halfway in praise, and I realized it had been an entire two months since I’d seen a real smile, one that spread beyond those perfect pink lips to her dark brown eyes.
“I think you can go home in a couple days,” she told me. That perked me up immediately, and couldn’t help but grin. “You have to make sure you run at least every other day, but your uncontrolled Changes are happening less often. I think you’re ready.”
My joy disappeared as more guilt raided my emotional privacy. The night a deranged mutt named Jonathan had kidnapped me, he’d forged a note from me to my parents, telling them I’d run away. I’d passed by my house on runs, snuck close to catch a fleeting glimpse of a family member, but they hadn’t seen me. I hadn’t spoken to them or left any clues as to where I was, and this whole time I’d been not even ten minutes away. After months of no contact, knowing the trouble I’d get in for leaving and how much of a struggle it would be to be back home, the idea made me antsy as hell.
Both Camille and Luna were looking at me concernedly, as my anxiety must have been etched on my face. “I’m just nervous. I know I’ll be in a lot of trouble.” In my apprehension I busily fidgeted with my fingers.
“Maybe, but I know they’ll be really happy that you’re okay,” Camille offered reassuringly.
“And they’ll be even happier you’re okay so they can kill you themselves,” Luna nodded her agreement, trying in her own sarcastic way to make me feel better.
“Oh, that’s something to look forward to, thanks,” I laughed, rolling my eyes.
Luna shrugged indifferently and got up to stretch. “I’m going to bed. Night ladies.”
Both Camille and I said ‘goodnight,’ and then sat there in a moment of semi-awkward silence. We both stood at the same time, chuckling nervously as the tension thickened. To avoid even more strain, I motioned toward the door for her to leave first, and then followed her into the living room. While she sat on the couch and flipped through television channels I walked to the large bookshelf on the far side of the room. The whole time I’d lived with Camille’s family, I hadn’t even noticed the books until now.
Nearly all of them were old, and I took in a deep breath of the rich, musty smell they gave off. Running my finger along the spines, I silently mouthed the titles until I reached one that spurred my interest. The Underworld Omnibus. I pulled the large volume from the shelf, and as I opened the cover I plopped down onto the couch. Camille’s body tensed when I landed closer than I’d expected to her, and after an embarrassed and apologetic smile I scooted a couple inches over.
It took a moment for me to recover from pulling myself away because it made me realize how much I missed being close to her, and pushing back the deep sense of longing rising in me, I flipped through the first couple pages. Each of
the leathery pieces of paper was thick, and if not for the yellowing crisp of old age they’d have been strong and flexible. Going through the table of contents, I read what seemed to be a categorized list. Deities, page 5. Demons, page 98. I continued reading until a section caught my eye. The Undead, page 387. Turning to page 387, I skimmed through until I found what I was looking for. Vampires. I’d heard about vampires in stories and movies, but I never thought they could be real. Of course, a few months ago I wouldn’t have thought werewolves existed either.
“Camille?” I waited for her to raise her eyebrows questioningly. “Are vampires real too?”
“Mhm,” she mumbled the affirmative, and with a click she flipped to the next channel.
I looked over the picture of the vampire in the book, and studied what seemed to be an exaggerated drawing. The humanly creature was wearing ancient, tattered formal wear. Two large, pointed wings stemmed farther than both arm-spans from each side of its back, and it smiled so that its sharp fangs flashed menacingly. “Have you ever met one?”
“No,” she answered, and I could see her give a concealed glance my direction. “Why?”
“I was just wondering. They’re in this book.” I held up the text so Camille could see the picture. “Are we really mortal enemies with them?”
She chuckled, shaking her head. “No, but we’re not best of friends either. I’d say it’s more of a,” she paused thoughtfully, “You do your thing and I’ll do mine, and we’ll try not to cross paths kind of a relationship.”
“Oh.” I yawned and closed the book. Phasing seemed to take more energy out of me when it was cold out. “Well, goodnight. We’ll practice Changing more tomorrow?”
Camille nodded and said ‘goodnight,’ and I trudged up the stairs to her bedroom. Since I’d been staying here Camille had given up her room for me and moved in with Luna. I felt bad for having kicked her out, but even though I missed her, I preferred it to the tension between us. Closing the door behind me, I started stripping my clothing, then stopped to look at myself in the mirror. I slowly gazed down my torso to the scar under my left breast, and twisted to look at the same one on my back. I don’t know where the bullet had gone after Jonathan shot me, but when I was bitten the werewolf gene left me with a nice blemish to remind me of the pain. Holding up my hand, I studied the two small, round scars on my palm, then flipped my hand to look at the matching two on the other side. They weren’t very big, but I did wish Luna had bitten me in a more inconspicuous place. I rarely wore gloves, and so the bite-marks would be ever-present and visible.
