by D. Levesque
Where is the bullet now? Please tell me you haven’t touched it, Brandon!
Sorry, I kind of did. I have it on my coffee table. I put it down to type. Is it poisoned with something???
What do you mean, you put it down? You had it in your HAND?
Yeah?
Brandon, please do not touch it anymore. I am almost at your house. When you hear four knocks and a space and four more, open the door. Otherwise, DO NOT ANSWER IT. Go out to your back door and run like hell and don’t stop. Got it? Make sure you bring your phone with you and message me when you are safe.
Now yet again, what the fuck is going on? But if they are on their way, to make sense of what is going on, I am all for it.
Got it.
After two minutes of no response, I put my phone back into my pocket and head over to get that drink I was thinking about earlier. This time, I pour a good four shots into it. By the time I am back on the couch, it’s already half gone.
Turning on the tv for a distraction, I put it on the local station to see what news is going on in the area. It’s just past noon. The anchor lady is talking about accidents on the highway and how a local dog was lost. Yeah, if they are talking about that, they have no news about the dead bodies. If they did, it would be the only thing they were talking about. Turning it off, I tell Google to play my music list again. Once the soothing music starts, I listen to it and try to let myself unwind. I want nothing more right now than to just head out the door and go for a damn run to help with this stress. Though look at what happened the last time I wanted to do that. Two men died, and a wolf got shot. Putting the now empty glass down on the table next to the silver bullet, I lean my head back and close my eyes.
I must have dozed off, since the next thing I know I jerk up and hear four knocks on my door, with a pause and another four knocks. That would be my special guest. Getting up, I head towards the door to open it. Wait a fucking minute. What am I doing? Am I about to open my door without thinking about it? Opening my entrance closet, I take out the baseball bat that I keep there for such emergencies. Once I have the heavy bat in my hand and feel much more reassured, I go to the front door and open it slowly. I look outside. What greets my eyes is a tall person, in a robe, with their head covered.
“Are you just going to stare or are you going to invite me in?” says a very feminine voice.
“Huh, please come in,” I tell her stupidly.
Shaking myself out of my stupor, I open the door widely and let her in. The robed person walks by me, and I close the door and lock it, out of habit. The woman heads towards my living room like she owns the place. I follow right behind her. Once I am in the living room, she turns around. She reaches up and removes the hood from her head. What it reveals shocks me. It’s a woman with the blondest hair I have ever seen. It’s long and in a ponytail going down the length her robe. But that isn’t what catches my eyes. It’s her ears. She has ears like what an elf would have. Like those in any fantasy movie that has played in the last decade! They are long and pointy. But they don’t detract from her looks. She is stunning as fuck, and I just stare.
“Now, where is that silver bullet, Brandon? We need to get it away from you!” she says urgently in a soft, contralto voice.
Without thinking about it, I bend over to the table next to me and pick up the bullet and hold it out to her. She looks at it in shock. She’s looking at the bullet in my hand, and then she looks up at my face.
“How are you able to hold that? It should hurt you!” she says, stunned.
Chapter Four
I just stare at this stranger in my house, and her reaction makes no sense. You would think I was holding up a bomb. Holding the bullet up to my face, I look at it, making sure it’s not something else. Then I think, shit is it radioactive and not poisoned?
“Crap, is this thing like throwing off gamma rays or something? Is it radioactive?” I ask her, putting it down on the table quickly and running my fingers along my track pants.
“Are you saying that you did not feel any pain, no nausea, no discomfort?” she asks me slowly.
I nod at her. “Was I supposed to?” I ask her, confused now. I am trying to figure out what she is talking about and why there is a damn Elf in my house.
“Brandon, that’s silver,” she points to the bullet on the table, “you should have reacted to it. You should have been in pain or throwing up all over the floor. This isn’t making any sense!” she says, stamping her foot. Oh, I have to agree lady, this is not making any sense.
“Listen, I don’t know who you are, or what really, unless those ears are fake, but what the fuck is going on with my life right now? I have been shot at, watched a man die, might have killed another to save my damn life, and more other shit than I care to mention. What the fuck was that message you sent me about getting away,” I now say; by the end, I am angry.
The lady in the robes just nods at me numbly. She goes to the couch and sits down. I head to the kitchen without thinking about it, grab another tumbler, and two more ice cubes. I then head to the living room again. She is still sitting there, looking at the silver bullet, like it’s a viper. I grab the Canadian Club, pour a good two shots into it, swirl it, bring it over, and hand it to her. She reaches up with a shaky smile, takes the glass, and gulps down the whiskey in one go. No coughing, no reaction.
Taking a deep breath, she looks up at me and asks quietly, “Can I get another one, please?” That is when I notice that her eyes have a slight tilt to them. Not quite Asian like, but similar. But also, the irises are much bigger. Damn, you can get lost in those eyes. Nodding, I grab the glass she offers me and head to get more. I bring the bottle back with me after pouring her some more, and place it on the other side of where the bullet is.
Taking the glass, she throws that one back too. I am impressed. Few ladies can do that. Hell, I can’t do that. I can see that she is truly upset, but not at me. I think she is angry at the bullet. Or what the bullet represents, which I still don’t understand.
“Care to tell me why this bullet is so important?” I ask her, taking a seat on the couch away from her slightly.
“Brandon, this. Dammit, where do I start? Where did you get that?” she finally looks at me directly. I can feel her gaze like laser beams. I feel pressure in my head, but I brush it away in my mind as a start of a headache. She seemed to have a shocked look across her face, or I thought she did since it was so fast, but her face is normal again.
So I explained what happened to me last night, starting after her text message that I blocked because I thought it was a scam. And then I end with me taking the bullet out of the wolf. I tell her that I must be going crazy since the wolf is gone, but the blood and all else is still there.
Sitting back, she does what I can only assume are breathing exercises to calm herself down. From what, I have no fucking clue.
“Brandon, that wolf, it wasn’t a normal wolf,” she finally says, opening her eyes after about ten minutes of breathing and looking at me directly. “It’s different. Just as I am different from a human. I am sure you have noticed some difference in how I look?” she asks me.
“I was going to ask if you were doing cosplay as an Elf,” I tell her with a smile.
She laughs, and it’s very melodic to the ear. Not a normal laugh. “No, I am not cosplaying, though I do use that a lot to get humans to ignore me. I am what you would call a White Elf. What you saved last night was a Lycan.”
“Lycan, what’s that? And what the hell is a White Elf?” I ask her, confused now. Did I walk into a D&D game? “And do you have a name, so I don’t keep calling you that girl in my head,” I finish before she can answer my question.
“Oh, sorry, Brandon. There has been just so much going on, and I know so much about you that I forget you don’t know me. I’m Silvana Miramenor,” she says, blushing. “So, have you read anything about Elves in your life?” she continues.
“I have seen Lord of the Rings many times. I even read the book, but that
is the extent of my knowledge of them,” I tell her.
“Well, Tolkien knew about us, which is why there is some accuracy in his portrayal. But that is like skimming the lake but not seeing the bottom. I am a White Elf. More accurately, I am an Elf of the White branch. There are Red Elves who are Warriors. I am a White Elf, as I can use magic,” she tells me.
“So, not all Elves can use magic?” I ask Silvana.
“Yes, and no,” she says, shaking her head, causing the blond hair to escape her robe. “All Elves have an innate ability to use magic, since we are creatures born of magic, but some Elves have a better understanding of it and can cast much more advanced spells. Just as a Red Elf would be better trained and proficient with weapons.”
“And how do I know that what you are telling me is true, and you aren’t just some cosplayer, trying to scam me?” I ask her, skeptical about this magic ability shit.
Silvana looks at me without saying a word and stands up. She moves away from the coffee table and stands in the open area. She then lifts her left hand and intones in a musical voice, that somehow seems to flow through the room but resonates all around.
“Paina nala thula melo.”
Slowly, I can see threads of light gather in her palm until there is a ball of glowing threads that are wrapped up in a pillar of fire. I just stare, dumbfounded.
“This is a simple spell of fire,” she says with a smile. “Now, do you believe me?”
Getting up, I go around the table and stand in front of her. I slowly reach out and place my hand near the ball of flame. There is no heat coming from it. That is fucking amazing!
“Can I touch it? Or will it burn me?” I ask her hesitantly.
“As you are human, or so, you should be fine. The magic is only touchable by us, Elves, and I did not call up its destructive side,” she says with a gentle smile.
Slowly again, I reach out and place my hand on the flame. Suddenly, there is a searing pain in the palm of my hand, like I just put my hand in a firepit. Screaming, I pull back, and I am on the floor on my knees, one hand around my wrist, trying to stop the pain. It’s so bad that I can barely focus, and I hear Silvana screaming something, but I am too busy dealing with the excruciating pain to understand her. Somehow the pain fades, and when I can see or make sense of what is going on around me, I see that Silvana has a green glow around her hand. She has her hands cupped over my hand that’s in pain. She keeps reciting a musical phrase over and over.
“Mel al bah mae deou.”
After a bit, the pain is gone. Looking down, my hand is fine. I can see it’s a bit red, as if I had put my hand under boiling water.
“I am so sorry, Brandon! That’s never happened to a human or a Lycan before,” she tells me, sobbing, upset.
“It’s fine, but what the hell just happened? I thought you said it would not burn me. That was the worst pain I have ever felt,” I ask her, my voice croaking. Damn, I must have been screaming loudly. My throat hurts.
“I don’t know! This has never happened to anyone. For all Elves, touching it doesn’t hurt us. We can feel the magic of it, but we don’t feel pain,” she says, confused.
Pulling out a cell phone, she dials a number and puts it to her pointy ear.
“Ophenia, it’s Silvana. I have something odd to ask you. Has there ever been a case of someone touching the light spell fireball and getting burned?” she asks this Ophenia on the other end.
“Let’s just say I found someone who got burned. No seriously. This hmm, individual touched it, and it physically burned his hand, and caused him a shit ton of pain. I had to use a healing spell on him,” she continues.
Looking over at me, she says into the phone. “No, he isn’t an Orc or a Demon. He is, well, mostly human.”
Listening to the other end, she finally says, “Well, I want to test something. Can you ask the Elders please if I can test for Mal Da Ja?” All I hear from the phone is incoherent yelling.
“Ophenia, just ask them! I didn’t ask for your opinion on this.” Sighing before she continues, Silvana says, “Ophenia, this is by the King’s request.” Listening some more, she finally says, “Thank you, Ophenia. Please tell the Counsel as well.”
Hanging up the phone, Silvana gazes at me. Nodding once, she walks to the couch and sits down, and pats the cushion for me to sit next to her. I am in way over my head, I think. I am not sure what’s happening to me, but I have lost control of it. Sighing, I go over and sit on the couch with her.
“First, can you take that silver bullet into the kitchen? And you are sure when you touch it that it doesn’t hurt you or make you feel sick?” she asks me softly.
“Yeah, I can move it, and no, it doesn’t hurt, unlike that fucking fire.” Getting up, I grab the silver bullet and walk into the kitchen. Deciding to move it out of the way completely, I open a cupboard door and put it into an empty mug. Deciding that more alcohol wouldn’t be a wonderful idea, I grab two water bottles, one for me and another for Silvana if she wants one. Heading back into the living room, I place the extra bottle in front of her. She gladly takes it with a smile, opens it, and gulps the entire thing down. I follow but only drink half.
“Sorry, I’ve been on the run for days and didn’t have time to stop for anything. It might not have been a smart idea to drink those whiskeys earlier, but too late for that,” she says with a low chuckle.
“Now, what is this Lycan thing you talked about earlier?” I ask her.
“You really don’t know what a Lycan is? You never heard the word Werewolf before?” she asks me, bewildered.
“Oh!” I say, laughing at her. “Well, yeah, I know what a werewolf is. It’s stories about humans who, during a full moon, can turn into a wolf. Lots of horror movies have them. I used to watch them all the time,” I tell her with a grin.
“So, Lycans are part of that. A Were isn’t always a wolf. Though, that is the one that is usually talked about in stories,” she tells me. “What you helped last night was a Werewolf. That silver bullet,” she points to the kitchen, “that you took out? That was stopping them from healing. Normal bullets, knives, swords, you name it, don’t kill them. Silver does. That Werewolf wasn’t able to heal, but the minute you removed the bullet, it allowed their regenerative abilities to repair themselves from the gunshot wound.”
What the fuck is she talking about? Elves? Werewolves? Last night I was bitching about an unsatisfactory interview with my manager and fighting a damn line of code for hours. Now, in less than 24 hours, I have been chased, shot at, met a spirit wolf, had an actual wolf kill a man. I killed a man with my fist. I found out that the wolf I saved was a Werewolf with a silver bullet in it. Now, I met an Elf. What. The. Fuck. Is. Happening. Oh, and did I mention that this Elf also did magic in front of me and burned my hand?
“Listen, what the hell am I being pulled into here? Why me? Why were those men even after me, and why did you send me that text to run?” I ask, trying to get an idea here of what’s happening.
“The quick answer is, you’re not who you think you are, and others now want you dead. Oh, I mean, you are Brandon MacDermott, your parents are who they were. But you aren’t human. Fully. And now, with what that flame did to you, I think you are even less human than I expected,” she finishes with a shake of her head.
“What? What do you mean I am not human?” I ask her, baffled.
“So, your parents, I knew both of them. This was probably 40 years ago now? You were not even born yet. But your parents were Weres themselves. Your dad was a Werewolf, but your mother was a Werelioness, or that is what she told us. She never changed in front of us. Your dad, on the other hand, did all the time. He was very proud about that he was a Werewolf. Your parents died to hide you, or in hiding you. That is all I know, though,” she says, apologetically.
“My parents were what?” I ask, unsure that I heard her correctly.
“Your parents were Werefolk, so that makes you also a Were. Haven’t you ever changed? I mean, you are how old now? In your 3
0s, at least? It usually happens when you are in your teens,” she says with an odd look at me.
“Hmm, pretty sure I would remember if I changed into some kind of monster, wouldn’t I?” I ask her.
“Brandon! They aren’t monsters! Your parents were Werefolk, and they were amazing people,” she says sharply.
“Sorry,” I say, uncomfortable, “this is just all too new to me. Before tonight, I thought stories about werewolves and even Elves were just that, stories!”
“No, they are real. But you are sure you have never turned into some Were? Your parents being of mixed Were, we aren’t sure if you will be Wolf or Lion. Also, there are many things in this world that you humans don’t know about. Things that are kept hidden from you, like us, Elves.”
“Well, I can tell you, you must be wrong about me, Silvana. I have never wanted to change into a Werewolf or Werelion. I have never felt different during a full moon, which I assume now is incorrect because that wolf last night was out, and it wasn’t a full moon. But now it seems someone from this thing called the Organization is after me,” I say, frustrated now at having my life changed.
“Did you say the Organization?” she asks with such anger and venom that it takes me by surprise. Quickly, I feel the room temperature decrease by at least twenty degrees. I start to shiver.
“Yeah, one thug. After the Werewolf had killed him, his partner shot it. When it fled into the woods, the guy came up to me and said that the Organization had put out a contract on my parents to find them and kill them. And then to kill me too, but since my parents were already dead, he would kill me,” I tell her, trying to remember that night as much as I can. “The second guy I killed said he came out of retirement for this. If that helps,” I finish.
“Shit, shit, shit. And you are 100% sure he said the Organization? What were they wearing, and what did they look like?” Silvana asks.
“They were as tall as I am but huge, like professional football players. And they had black combat fatigues. They drove up in a tinted window SUV,” I try to remember as much as I can for her. “They had American accents. That’s all I remember, sorry.”
