I stood in my monstrous form, a low warble escaping my exhale. My arms ran slick with crimson life, dripping into puddles beneath me. All around me sat the torn and dismembered bodies of every creature that came from the depths. They were nothing compared to the beast inside of me. Jon, the entity, was right. I was getting stronger. I felt faster, able to move in and out of people with my massive body as I exchanged one victim for another. I laid waste to every single one of them. Nothing but carnage lay at my feet. Once back, I felt even more in control of the actual shift between human and monster, like I was just flexing a specific muscle.

  I glanced over, under multiple bodies, to the asshole that had been prodding the beast in some unseen way. The human amongst the vampires had been attacking the monster, trying to find a way to take me out. As soon as I set my eyes on him, I knew… it was him. But why? How had he been doing it? It was his last mistake! There was no doubt about his fate… he was fucking dead and buried underneath a mountain of more dead bodies. He didn’t have a single solid bone left. I’d basically turned him into a bag of splinters.

  In those moments of wrath and rage, I felt the beast truly unleashed like he had been in that parking lot that night. As I slew them all there in the crumbling building, I didn’t want to change back. This was the true me now. This is what I was. My life had been traded, all I was now… was the dark creature that cut down the evil of the world with merciless conviction.

  I heard voices behind me as I stood in my otherworldly visage. I didn’t turn to look straight at them; I only glanced back to see them in my peripheral vision. Martin and Alex were there, helping Clara sit up and regain her consciousness.

  I didn’t want to initially, but I calmed the beast inside my mind. I could feel all of the death that surrounded me as my size and stature returned to normal, making me want to remain the monster. Tendons and ligaments popped and clicked in and out of place as bones shifted around. I shrank back to normal proportions in the darkness of the rubble-filled area. I was still covered in blood, arms coated, and face spattered in the drying red substance. When I was completely myself again, I looked up, closing my eyes. I took in a long breath as I calmed my mind as much as possible. I could feel the monstrous rage subsiding. The anger and agitation of the monster had been nullified. Whoever that asshole was… his effects were no more. Yet, the monster was on my mind like a hand gripped tightly around my brain. I wasn’t in full control, but neither was he. Strangely, it was like we were blending together, wanting the same things… becoming the same person.

  I looked around the bloodied carnage for some semblance of clothing. One of the vampires that was missing its head had taken the least amount of damage compared to the rest of my victims. He had on an average pair of jeans that looked about my size.

  Alex, Martin, and a conscious Clara all watched me intently as I paced around for clothes, never saying a word. Once I had pants on and was presentable, I eased my way over to them. They looked like deer in headlights. Alex had a look across her bloodied face that seemed like she didn’t know what to think. Martin and Clara’s looks were recognition and fear.

  “Are you okay?” I asked Clara.

  She nodded fiercely at my question, “I’m alright. My throat just…” she shook her head slightly. “It’s hard to breathe.”

  “He had his grip around you for a long time. It will take time to heal,” Martin said.

  She lightly touched the already forming bruises across her neck, gauging the level of pain she was in.

  “Wayland…” Clara strained to speak. “Is he okay? Where is he?”

  “He’s alright,” Alex smiled. “We had to force him to leave so he wouldn’t get himself killed. He was dead set on getting to you, even if he had to dig his way through that.” Alex motioned towards the pile of materials that used to be the ceiling. She almost seemed envious.

  “Where is he?” Clara asked.

  “They’re all outside. Carter is on the phone with Detective Ames. They’re trying to get the people you found here sorted out and back to their families. There’s going to be a lot of questions about what happened here,” Martin explained. “I can take you to them. I know they are all worried beyond belief.”

  “Please,” Clara nodded quickly, shakily trying to stand.

  Alex and Martin gingerly helped her to regain her footing. Only her throat was hurt, but the exhaustion that set in from their battling on the other levels of the structure had weakened her. Being choked unconscious right after can’t do the body much good. They started walking out, and then Clara looked back to where I stood in the shadows.

  “Sam, aren’t you coming?” Clara asked.

  I was shocked at her idea. I couldn’t come out like this. If her family saw me this way, covered in blood after I slaughtered as the monster… How could they see me as anything else?

  “No,” I said. “You two get her back with them. I’ll stay here and check out this hole.” I motioned back towards the void that ran through the concrete foundation. It led down into a sublevel and then deeper into the caves beneath the city. With any luck, I might be able to track their path and find others that were tied in with this group of inhuman beasts.

  “Sam…” Clara spoke with a rasp in her voice as she called my name. But then she stopped talking. I think she wanted to say something, but the intensity of what she felt as she looked at me choked her words. I didn’t look human down there in the darkness, surrounded by my carnage.

  I looked straight back at her, still covered in blood, and just nodded.

  “Once I’m done down there, I’ll get myself cleaned up. We need to talk about everything that happened here,” I told Martin and Alex. I wanted to pick their brains. I wanted to see how deep Alex’s knowledge went, as well as Martin’s. Maybe they’d know something about the guy I killed.

  “Okay,” Martin agreed quickly, moving Clara towards the bloodied exit that was littered with fleeing bodies that didn’t quite make it.

  My three friends disappeared from sight, exited the building, and were back out under the night sky. Only about a minute later, I heard the reunion of Wayland and Clara. I heard tears, promises being made, and embraces that pulled people in close. I wanted to be there. I wanted to feel what they felt. I hoped the rest of them were okay, mentally. Seeing me again, like that… I hoped it didn’t change anything.

  I thought of Autumn. I needed to talk to her about so many things. We needed to talk… I needed to talk. I had so many things I needed to say to her. I had no real hopes of regaining her in my life like before, but miracles did happen. Plus, I needed to tell her that nothing that happened was her fault. I also wanted to see her face after everything I just did. Then I’d be able to tell if she still wanted me around after seeing the ruthless killer again.

  I had explored the tunnels and caves for hours. My legs were soaking wet from wading through flooded tunnels and caverns that retained city drainage from above. I never found any new passageways that would lead me deeper, like Martin had once told me. I’d follow scents, but then I’d hit a solid wall of natural stone beneath the city. I took every path I could find, followed every trail of previous visitors, wedged between every nook and cranny… but nothing. It was like there was a secret passage I didn’t know about or something. My black eyes allowed the pitch-black caves to be fully revealed to me in all their spiky stone glory, but I couldn’t figure out where to go. In the deepest parts of the tunnels and caverns were just random stalagmites shooting up from the ground. Some were larger than others, but none of them led to my discovery I yearned for. I thought I had mapped out the tunnels and all their extensions in the last two years or so, but I was starting to realize that there was a lot to the subterranean passageways that I didn’t understand.

  Once I called it quits on the underground hunt, I pushed through a thick, steel manhole cover that led me back out into the lightly humid air of the dawn sky. When I cracked the lid to street level, the rising sun hit me right in the retinas, fading my eyes back to white and blue. It was morning in St. Louis, and the sun was slightly peering over the horizon, which gave me a warm comfort. Knowing that the one who was causing me such internal distress had been dealt with, I felt a new calm. I felt like I was back to a place where I could slowly and safely ease myself back in with the Chasse family. I could maybe have that talk with Autumn.

  The beast and I were becoming one, more so than ever before. I only felt it struggling to get out because of the one Jon told me about. He was doing something to make the beast lash out. I knew I was in control now that he was dead.

  Yet, all this didn’t deter me from regaining the relationships I wanted. I didn’t fear for their safety when I thought about it. I wanted to be near so I could keep them safe with my unique status… if you could think of me as anything other than a killer.

  I returned to my home in the early morning shadows before they had all been cast away by the encroaching sun. I was still soaked in blood on most of my upper chest area, and spattered randomly all over. I couldn’t be seen by the waking populace. So, I went home.

  Once inside my borrowed home, and away from any prying eyes, I washed my hands for probably thirty minutes. I knelt in front of the sink, placing my arms in, and just scrubbed. I had so much blood on me from the carnage that it was caked and dried into every crevice of my upper body. After I got the majority of the thickly caked red stain off of me, I jumped into the shower. I stayed in there for even longer. At one point, I just sat on the floor of the tiled area and let the water hit me in the back as I stared at the ground. I felt calm.

  For the first time in a while, I felt like I was me again. I had a reprieve from the constant provocation of the beast within, and I had killed the one that was causing problems in the area. Once I killed that dweeb with the haircut, I felt normal. But… it was more than that. Again, I felt like I was becoming the monster… and the monster was becoming me. I always liked to think of it separately, maybe it helped me process what I had to do, but I was starting to feel differently.

  I had a passing thought about Patrick and the green-eyed man with the doofy hair-part getting their hair cut by the same person… because they looked ridiculous. Then I was curious, why did he want Patrick? What kind of heinous fate would he have been left to if taken by those from below? Even I had to admit… he didn’t deserve that. I was glad I saved him, too.

  I took the last few steps through the trees to the edge of the Chasse property, listening in to determine what kind of state the family was in after the quick turn of events at the Lemp Brewery. I could hear arguing inside the walls of the sprawling but secluded home. It sounded like it was coming from Carter and Zeke.

  "When are you ever going to learn?" Carter yelled through his anger.

  "When are you going to stop treating these monsters like pets and start treating them like what they actually are… the enemy!" Zeke spat back.

  "If it wasn't for them, we'd all be dead. And we'd be dead because of you," Carter's words were hard, but true. "I never should have put anyone else in danger for you. You don't see the risks; all you see is monsters... and you'll risk everyone; your brother, even your own daughter, to hunt the way you do. Why do you think our parents took the time to train us when we were kids? They wanted us to survive, not go down in a bloodbath because we weren't smart and didn't use the things they taught us."

  With that, the whole house fell silent. The silence didn't last long, but the shock of Carter's words was powerful amongst the family.

  As the family’s heated exchange continued, I started to realize that neither Martin nor Alex was there. They must have left once they got everyone back safe. From the sounds of everything, Zeke didn’t approve of their presence.

  I never smelled him as the wind was on my back, but there at the edge of the woods was Wayland. His taller frame sat at the base of a tree, looking out into the woods where I always came from, as I arrived on foot.

  He connected eyes with me, “Sam!”

  “Wayland,” I responded with an answering tone.

  He took a deep breath, preparing himself.

  "They've been like this since we got back," Wayland's voice spoke out. He was sitting there like he was waiting for me, knowing I’d come. He could see that I was listening to the faint voices he could barely hear from within the house.

  "Wayland," he actually surprised me, "I didn't expect you out here." I was so focused on what Carter and Zeke fought about that Wayland was like a ghost as he silently waited.

  "Sorry, but I figured you'd come this way," he explained. "I wanted to talk to you before everyone else was around. Plus, I had to get out of there; Zeke's way to loud."

  I smirked, "I can tell."

  “Listen, Sam," Wayland arose from where he waited, "I haven't given you a fair chance since we've learned that you’re… not human. If I'm being totally honest ... I don’t trust that thing you turn into."

  "Yeah... I get that a lot."

  "It's not that I'm worried for myself, or even Clara, but I'm worried about my daughter. Delilah means more to me than anything else in this world. Once we found out about you, I just kept picturing you taking her from us, and I’d never see her again."

  I didn't even have to respond. He knew it was crazy. I just nodded as he spoke, letting him get everything off his chest that he had been feeling.

  "I know you’re not the bad guy, Sam. I see that now. When Clara was in that mother fuckers grip..." He shook his head like he was angry, disappointed with himself. "You saved her... not me. If you weren't what you are, whatever that is, she wouldn't be here right now. I wouldn't have a wife anymore. Delilah would never get to hug her mother again. I can never repay you..." He spoke the most honest words he had.

  "You don't have to worry about that," I assured him.

  He took a quick, refreshing breath. "As far as Clara and I are concerned, you're one of us.” Wayland looked away from me and up into the trees. “You always have been, I'm just sorry it has taken me this long to see that’s never changed."

  "Thank you, I appreciate that," I said, reaching out to shake his approaching hand.

  I liked Wayland. He reminded me of myself, the kind of father and husband I would have been... maybe.

  "I'd say let's go in, but I think they're still going at it," the tall hunter said.

  "It's silent right now," I said as I turned my hearing deeper into the house.

  "I don't think they'll be here much longer. After we all got back, Carter pretty much hasn't stopped laying into Zeke. We're kind of in the middle of a family argument that's been brewing for years," Wayland informed.

  "Years?" I asked.

  "Carter, Frank, and Clara have always been more careful about the hunting. They train, they plan, and they win. That's how they were taught. Zeke and Arthur train and fight, but they don't spend much time on preparation and planning. Zeke's been that way since they were all younger. Their family has lost a lot over the years. Zeke, Kayla, and Arthur are all that's left of their family, and they’ve been desensitized in a way. It’s normal to them. Carter doesn't want that for us," Wayland explained.

  "Why wouldn't they want to do things safer?" I asked, truly perplexed.

  "Their hearts are in the right place; they just think that those kinds of losses come with this life. It’s how they were taught. I think they would be open to change, but really it's just a pride thing at this point."

  Wayland and I sat outside for a little while longer, mostly in silence. We talked casually, and I could tell that he saw me in a new light. I was glad because I really liked Wayland. In our conversation, his phone started buzzing and lighting up the small area of trees we were in during the early morning hours.

  "What's going on?" Wayland answered.

  I was already tuned in with my senses, so hearing his phone call was easy.

  "Hey, where are you at? Things have calmed down a little in here, and we want to get everyone back in here to talk," Clara's raspy voice came through the speaker.

  "I'm outside," Wayland spoke, looking to me with a question on his mind. He was wondering if I wanted them all to know I was there with him. I shook my head slightly, and he nodded. "I'll be right in." Then, he flipped his phone closed.

  "I don't want to make things worse again if they're calming down. I'll come back," I offered.

  "That's probably smart given the state of things here. I'll let Carter and El know you came by once Zeke is clear. I know they'll want to see you, Clara too. She's beyond thankful. She's embarrassed that she let a vampire get the jump on her, but glad you were there."

  I nodded, "Thanks."

  With that, I stepped back into the shadows of the trees and left the family once again.

  Once inside the borrowed home, I began to think about the man from the brewery. Why was he able to affect me, or the monster, the way he was? What exactly was he doing to me? Also, why did he seem like he was running the show, and the vampires were all doing what he said? What were they going to do with those kids? One thing was certain: more and more questions about my dark world began to arise.

  I cleaned myself up again from my return trip home. I passed through a small section of caves on my way back, hoping to see… something. But I had no such luck through the cold stone passageways. The only thing I found was a foul, stagnant stench that clung to my clothes, so I had to shower and do my laundry again.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  Then I tilted my head back on the comfy couch. I didn't need sleep, but it was relaxing and peaceful. Once my world had slowed down enough, I began to think about better times. I remembered Autumn’s words. The way she spoke to me at their dining room table. The smell that lingered from her found its way into my senses and memory. I wish she were there with me in that moment. I wanted to talk.

  The late morning was starting outside the walls that cloaked me from the world. Life would soon kick off for the rest of the world, but I’d sit in the dark of the house for a while longer.

  After an unknown amount of time had passed as I sat on the couch, I heard a crash of thunder that snapped my eyes open. I could see the flash of lightning coming through the thick curtains that draped down every window in the place. I got up, feeling the house pulse and shake from the winds of the storm. I walked across the plush carpet to the window and pulled back the thick materials to see the rain beating down on the earth around my home. The branches in the trees all danced and thrashed overhead, turning the trees from the solid ancient growths into a flexible rubberized version of their usual selves.

  As I glanced outside to catch a quick glimpse of the storm, I saw a car parked on the side of the road. It was unfamiliar to me, but when I blackened my eyes to see through the rain, I recognized the faces that peered through the windshield. Bartley and Annabelle Wicklow were parked right outside.

  “Sam,” Annabelle lightly spoke from within the car, “if you can hear me, please come out and speak with us.”

  I was actually taken aback. Their status and power were always a big question mark to me. The things they could do were as unexplainable as they were strange.

  I opened the door and stepped out into the storm. The winds raged overhead, pushing and pulling my momentum in different directions. The uncatchable lightning cracked and slithered across the sky too fast to pin down. The storms around the city seemed to be getting worse and worse as the summer progressed. I jogged over to the Wicklow’s car, so I wouldn’t get too wet from the rain. I grabbed the door handle to the small black sedan and pulled the opening clear, stepping into the car quickly as the rain chased me in.

  On the inside of the fancy black car were black leather seats accented by little wooden features that were polished to a mirror reflection. The Wicklows had money, that much was apparent, but they never flaunted it. Annabelle’s house, which was burned down in Mercy’s fire, was nothing to brag about, but I guess they were tied in with CWT Construction in their own way. Carter’s family had money, so why wouldn’t the Wicklows?

  “Sam, it is so good to see you again,” Annabelle’s old bones greeted warmly from beside me in the backseat. Her far surpassing age and knowledge were present on her face as she sat there in the back of the car.

  “Sam,” Bartley Wicklow spoke more sternly in the front driver's seat. He was more serious about all of the unknowns I presented him with.

  The entire Wicklow family shared similar features that I had grown accustomed to; Bartley, Patrick, and Shelta’s darker elements were all from the same source. Annabelle shared all of those, only aged to a higher degree, where they had started to lose their similarities to wrinkles and grey hair. They were all of the same blood, except Bartley’s wife Sarah, making them all very distinguishable in the joint family. Sarah was like the Wicklow’s version of Wayland, originating somewhere else, but just as involved as the rest of her family.

  “This is… unexpected,” I noted to both of them as I sat in the backseat, slightly wet from the rain.

  “Yes,” Annabelle agreed, nodding with a smile. “So was what happened at the Lemp Brewery. We heard that you played a part in keeping Patrick safe from those who presented themselves there.”

  “That man, he wanted to take Patrick with him for some reason. I don’t know why, but he picked him out from everyone else. They never touched him, though, not like Clara,” I assured.

  “We heard,” Bartley spoke, half turned in the driver’s seat. “I was sorry to hear that she was hurt on the hunt, but I’m glad to know that she’ll be fine. I’m also very appreciative of what you did for Patrick.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but he was restraining himself.

  “So am I,” Annabelle added. “I cannot see, nor predict you like I can with everyone else. We had no clue what would happen there since you were in the vicinity. I wish Patrick had told us what he was doing, then I could have looked out sooner. I didn’t see the gaps in time until it was too late to stop them.”

  “I’m just glad I made it in time. It was too close,” I admitted. “For everyone.”

  “Those vampires were guarding human kids who were kidnapped from around the city. This wasn’t the first interaction you have had with them, is it?” Bartley asked.

  “No, I told Carter what I found out, and they took it from there. Martin was the one who told me where they were going, and they’d probably run into trouble,” I explained.

  “The crows led you, didn’t they…” Annabelle had an understanding look as she spoke.

  “Yeah… how did you…” I thought she couldn’t see me like the others.

  “Carter told me.” I guess it was much simpler than I thought. “However, I saw what happened to that poor boy, and it was too late. An act that powerful…” She shook her head in disgust, “That kind of thing makes ripples. I felt it the moment he was killed. I watched the man who did it. I saw the crows around him, accusing him of the act. They don’t make mistakes; they can feel the deed that has been done. When a life is taken like that… they take notice. They won’t eat those that are killed so unjustly; they mourn them. They are nature's chosen watchers. They sense death itself, and when they see someone taken like Calvin was… it is said that they will watch the accused until justice is found.” She eyed me curiously, “Why they came to you… I’m not sure.” She had questions, just like everyone else.

  “Calvin was a part of something. Human trafficking, maybe… except the man told me that someone else was in control now. He said that “he” was taking people, and they wouldn’t be sold like normal. He said they’d all end up dead. Then, there was this man at the brewery. He was… strange. He had slick black hair, parted like a little kid going to get his picture taken. He was tall and thin… and he kept smiling,” I described him to the two gypsies. “The strangest part was that it seemed like he knew about me.”

  “How do you mean?” Bartley was curious, but his eyes looked like they were searching for something.

  “I… I haven’t felt myself lately. I’ve been easily angered, out of control, and the thing inside of me was clawing to get out. It was because someone had been targeting me, and I think it was him. When he saw me, it was like he realized he hadn’t taken me out like he thought he had. He had me twisting inside my own body on a rooftop just across from where everyone was inside fighting. I think he thought he killed me, but then when I showed up,” I remembered his face in that moment. He wasn’t scared at all. Even though he knew I would kill him, it was like he welcomed it. “He was only human, except for his eyes… they changed to glowing green. But he wasn’t as scared as those vampires were. They were terrified when they saw me through the shadows.”

  They both looked at each other, in agreement about something.

  “We’ll need to speak with Shelta,” Annabelle told Bartley, who instantly turned the ignition and sprang the engine to life.

  “What?” I asked, ready to bail out of the vehicle. I didn’t have that close of a relationship with the Wicklows, and this wasn’t as easy as it was with the Chasses. I had my hand on the door latch as I prepared to leave. I didn’t have the time or care to be drug around by them. It was getting on my nerves now, the more I thought about it, them just showing up like this.

  “Please, Sam, indulge us for the moment. We don’t know you as well as Carter and Eleanor, but we are trying to learn more about you. You are special, Sam, that much is certain. We have enemies that might come one day, and we may need you to help protect not only our family, but Carter’s and Jane’s as well. Our families have made many enemies throughout the generations, and sometimes they come knocking. Just let us go speak with my daughter, Shelta. She knows more about who we think this man could be, and I think you will be highly intrigued at the very least.”

  “You mean who he was…” I corrected.

  Bartley spoke from behind the steering wheel, “We think he may still be alive, and if he is,” he warned, “he’ll probably still be coming for you.”

  I took my hand off the door latch. “No, I killed him. I turned him into a mangled corpse. There’s no way he could have survived what I did to him.”

  “I hope you’re right, Sam, and I hope we are wrong. However, we must figure out if Shelta thinks the man you saw could be who we think he is,” Annabelle tried to convince me. “I pray it’s not him… because if it is… I don’t know what that will mean.”

  “How would Shelta know him?” I asked as Bartley pulled onto the road outside of my home, grit and gravel crunching beneath the tires as he drove.

  “Shelta is the most…” Annabelle searched for a word to match her daughter, “gifted in our family. She may be able to reach out with her powers and link this man to where he came from. Her powers will far surpass my own one day, once she can control them.”

  “If she can control them,” Bartley added from the front seat.

  “She will, son,” the elder gypsy assured.

  They seemed like they had their own internal familial strife.

  “Okay,” I agreed. “I’ll talk with her. If this guy still has a hold on me, I want to know.” Then I asked, “Who was he?”

  Annabelle patted my knee from across the back of the car, “I think it’s best if we wait for Shelta. No reason to worry for nothing.”

  We rode through the darkened, stormy skies of the city's outskirts. Shelta lived somewhere down south of St. Louis, across the river on the eastern side. The lightning cracked back and forth across the city as the wind whipped and tussled the car around.

  “The storms are getting worse,” Bartley spoke ominously from the front.

  “Yes… They are,” Annabelle acknowledged, looking out into the gloomy sky.

  “I’ve noticed that too. What does it mean?” I asked.

  “Things could be happening, someone could be watching, it could mean any number of things. There are many different forces in this world, and many different beings that can affect various aspects of the place we live in. It could be nothing more than natural weather at its peak, or it could be something else,” she gave me non-answers. Now I knew how that felt.

  “How was I blinded before?” I asked, thinking back to the night that the Chasse family had tricked me with some kind of spell or supernatural trick that I assumed was from the Wicklows. They lured me to their warehouse and placed some type of unseen effect on me. It made them completely invisible to me, and then they made the time pass by in an instant while they made their escape. It had always bugged me, and I thought now was a good time to ask.

  “What are you talking about?” Bartley asked.

  “When Carter had me go to his main office building, I didn’t see them, and then time got all… distorted. Something happened to me,” I said.

  “That was me,” Bartley answered. “We knew you weren’t human, but we didn’t know what would work on you since we didn’t know what you were. We performed two rituals; one to keep those hidden from something other than human, and another to slow the perception of time on any being. The first is a simple effect to create; the second, however, is much more difficult. It really tested my abilities,” Bartley spoke from the front.

  “How do your abilities work?” I asked.

  “How does your power work, Sam?” Annabelle asked to prove a point. “Do you know the specifics? How do you become so large, so strong, or how can you survive hellfire? Some things just can’t be explained. What I can tell you is that we have our own ways apart from the Chasse family. While they search their bestiaries and train physically, we study our family’s grimoires and learn the spells and effects that our ancestors developed as they grew in power. Our books are not bestiaries like the Chasses; they are much more than a few notes on strengths and weaknesses. Our bestiaries are more akin to a playbook. Family members that have come before would write what abilities, wards, or other powers derived from the gypsy blood were effective in certain situations or against certain creatures. We develop those abilities over time, so when the need arises, we’ll be ready. Some are born more naturally gifted, while others have to work and learn those powers.”

  “Shelta’s a natural?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Annabelle nodded. “But Bartley is much more studied and knowledgeable in our history and effectiveness. Natural abilities cannot be relied on when the time comes, we need training just as much as the Chasses.”

  “What can Patrick do?” I asked, curious about what Autumn knew of his unusual abilities.

  “Patrick has resisted a lot as he’s grown. If I’m candid,” Bartley said, “when you first came around, you got Autumn’s attention. Patrick noticed, and he hasn’t paid enough mind to his studies. He has been far too focused on her. That’s why he went out with them on that hunt the other night. He wants to be more like them. He thinks she’ll like that, and in turn like him as she used to.” Bartley shook his head at the thought.

  “Do you not like Autumn?” I asked them both.

  “Oh, please,” Annabelle assured. “Autumn is a powerful warrior and a soft soul who loves abundantly. However, she made it clear to Patrick long ago that they should just stay friends. I think you know as well as I, Sam, that Autumn has gone through much in the time since we very first met you. She’s had a hard time and is just looking for something to ease her pain… and Patrick is familiar.”

  Bartley joined in, “Patrick has been wrapped in Autumn's web by his own doing for too long. He should have the eyes to see what’s actually happening with her. I think he keeps hoping she’ll want him back again. I honestly wish he’d see what’s in front of him. Sometimes, young men can be so blind,” he meant something that I honestly didn’t understand.

  “Blind?” I asked.

  “Kayla,” Annabelle answered me. “Kayla has been trying to get that boy's attention for as long as I can remember, but he’s always been so hung up on Autumn that he can’t see her.”

  I was just the same. I hadn’t seen it yet, but I did now. The way Kayla was always picking at him, poking fun at him, slapping his ass after helping him up off the ground that night. She was flirting, in her own monster hunter way. Having only a hardened father and uncle must have made it hard for her to speak her feelings, like she probably could have if her mother were still alive to show her.

  “I see that Autumn will have some time unaccounted for here shortly,” Annabelle admitted. “She’ll be safe,” she admitted, “I can see her on the other end of the expanse of time, but still… You might want to tell Eleanor and Carter about it. I’m not sure how they will react, Sam.”

  I nodded but didn’t speak a word. What she saw in her supernatural sight shocked me. Autumn was going to come to me… how was that possible after all this time? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited about seeing her again… alone.

  “Is she safe… with you?” the eldest gypsy asked.

  “She is,” I answered. “They all are.”

  “Let’s hope,” she warned. “My allegiance has always been and will always be to the family. Even though we don’t know how to fight against you… I will if I have to protect them.” Her statement was scathing and unforgiving. She wasn’t scared of me, nor was she afraid to die to protect the ones she loved.

  I nodded to the old woman as I looked into her piercing eyes.

  We pulled into a suburban neighborhood in a town that I didn’t really recognize that well. The house all looked very similar, the only difference being the flowers and greenery in each of the street-facing gardens. This place was built quickly from previously laid plans, like a little treat popping out from beneath the cookie cutter.

  We didn’t even go inside as we saw Shelta on a wooden porch swing that hung from eyebolts beside her front door. She was waiting for us.

  “Hey, Mom, Bartley,” she greeted calmly.

  Shelta’s short haircut was the same as the last time I had seen her. She didn’t look as strained as she always did, but still held a focus in her eyes. I wondered if it was because of the powers she held from birth. Were the natural gifts she was given too much for her to live with at times?

  “I already know what you’re going to ask,” Shelta stopped me in my tracks.

  “You can see that?” Annabelle asked curiously. “Even with Sam here?”

  “I can’t see him, but I still see you,” she explained. “His aura is… dark, but manageable enough that I can look around it.”

  “Do you think it’s him, sweetie?” the old woman stepped up to her daughter, hugging her neck.

  Bartley mirrored his mother's actions and stood by his sister. I paced up to the steps of the small porch and waited for an answer.

  “I’ve felt things for a while now, but I didn’t know how far I was reaching out. One night, I felt something… and it scared me. Someone was watching me, trying to see what I was doing… what we were all doing,” Shelta shook as she thought about whom she spoke of.

  “Damn it,” Bartley admitted his fear under his breath.

  “So, it was him,” Annabelle sighed.

  “Who?” I asked quickly, annoyed that they were leaving me out of their strange, unspoken conversation.

  Shelta turned to me and spoke, “I’m not for sure, but Peter is who they are talking about; Peter Grimwood. He isn’t like anyone you’ve ever met before. Not like us.”

  Who the hell was Peter Grimwood? Why was he such a big deal, and, if it was him, why was he able to mess with me the way that he was?

  “I think we should step inside and take a seat, Sam,” Annabelle suggested. “This is a long story.”

  After about half an hour of convoluted explanation, I thought I was finally getting it. I replayed the information to them as we sat on Shelta’s sectional couch inside the quaint little modern home.

  “So, Peter Grimwood was from the original Grimwoods that were cast out of your collective… family,” I searched for the right words.

  “He’s a descendant, yes, just like us,” Shelta clarified.

  “And you met him ten years ago, when you all reached back out to the Grimwood clan when you were trying to break the Talbot curse?”

  “Yes,” Bartley answered.

  “Why did you want to do that?” I asked.

  “The Talbots have been through a lot in their time since they were cursed. Their family rises and falls by the curse. They can never have real lives so long as the beast inside rules them. There is no other creature as ferociously vicious as the werewolf on a full moon,” Annabelle reminisced. “Except for you, that is,” she amended her statement.

  “Long story short,” Bartley began to explain, “When Jane was taken by the curse, and we saw the damage it had done to Frank and Jane both, we decided to look. We thought it had been long enough, and that maybe the current Grimwoods wouldn’t have any kind of grudge over what happened in the past with our families. We thought that they might want to help break the curse that their bloodline put on the Talbots…” Bartley huffed, “We were wrong.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Shelta spoke next, “We met with them, learned from them, and fell in deep with them. They were like new members of the family. They were all more than willing to bury the hatchet until the night we met Peter. Peter was different than the rest of his family. He lived loosely, only coming around when he needed something from his parents. There were previous issues that we were not aware of between their family… older members who still held dark views. Peter picked those up… thought our bloodlines should be merged, just like in the past. He didn’t want to help cure the Talbots; he wanted to kill them and the Chasses. Now that they knew our families still existed, only in America, Peter was hatching a plan. He was sickened by his own family’s willingness to forgive us for casting them out.”

  “Why would he think that? It happened so long ago,” I asked.

  “Apparently, Peter had a great uncle who was still very old-school. He was shunned by most of their family, except for Peter. Peter learned a lot from his great-uncle. He even learned to hate all of our families. His uncle was a natural, very gifted, and he had decades of knowledge and experience that he passed on to Peter,” Bartley explained.

  “Peter used some kind of ability he learned from his uncle to steal all of his family’s power. When he did what he did, they all died. Every single one of them,” Shelta began to develop tears in her eyes at the memories.

  “Necromancy!” Annabelle spat the word like it was bitter on her tongue.

  Shelta’s short, dark hair hung around her head as she leaned over in tears. Something in her mind was being revealed again after so many years of forgetting it had happened.

  “It was like he sucked the lives right out of them. He took on abilities that were not meant for him. He became more powerful than anyone else in our family, even Shelta. That’s why it took all of us to beat him. We converged on him quickly, unleashing the full power of our family against him. As our family was much stronger back in the old days, so were we on that day. It took everything we had on that dreadful evening, but he was no match for all of us. He was killed and buried with his family,” Annabelle said.

  “That was a kindness that he didn’t deserve,” Bartley spat at the memory. “Shelta’s power was connected with his for a moment near the end. That’s why we think she’ll be able to tell if it is him or not. A connection like that is not easily forgotten.”

  “Patrick was too young to remember Peter from back then, so I don’t think he would have recognized him. But Shelta would,” Annabelle suggested. “At first, I thought you might look into Patrick later, to see the man’s face.” She looked between Shelta and me. “However… I wonder. Shelta, do you think you could look into Sam’s memories and see his face? If you saw past Sam to us coming here,” she thought aloud. “Maybe look around him at what happened in the brewery that night.”

  It was a good thing they understood each other, because I had no clue what the hell they were talking about. Their gypsy ways were foreign to me and didn’t make sense, so I just went with it.

  Shelta nodded, “I’ll give it a try.”

  I nodded as well, interested to see what would happen, “I’ll try.”

  We stood from the couch in the living room of Shelta’s residence. She reached up and placed her hand on the right side of my face. As soon as her palm touched the skin of my cheek, I felt a powerful pulse between us so hard that it sent us both flying in opposite directions.

  I was cast out through the living room window and into the yard, through the wooden handrail of her front porch. Once my momentum stopped, I was lying in a bed of wood chips and shattered glass. Shelta was flung against her living room wall, knocking the pictures and decorative accents to the ground. Her power was intense.

  “Shelta, are you okay?” Bartley came to his sister’s aid in a heartbeat. Annabelle leaned down after the startlement subsided.

  She shook and shivered as she leaned up into her brother's arms, “It’s him… I saw his face. It was only for a second, but…” She could barely gather her thoughts as I lay in the grass watching. “Peter’s not dead!”

  I stood up from the ground unscathed, but a little fuzzy from the shockwave. I stepped forward toward the front window to look in on the three Wicklows. What did she mean? Did he survive back then? Or when I killed him at the brewery?

  “No,” Shelta barked out fearfully as I stepped forward. She threw her arms up defensively as I approached the window, even though I was still outside. She was terrified of me.

  What else had she seen? What did she feel when she touched me?

  Annabelle spoke to me as she wobbled to her feet from the kneeling position, “Sam, thank you for what you have done. You’ve helped us discover who’s out there taking people. Peter Grimwood’s behind this horrid tragedy, and I fear…” she was looking inward at her own terror, “he may still have survived you, somehow. However,” she looked to her petrified daughter, “let us deal with this in our own way. We still don’t know much about you, and it seems that there is still much to be discovered about what all this could mean. Thank you for coming with us, but do you think you could make it home on your own?”

  I nodded, catching the drift. The reaction from Shelta after she had touched my face to read my memories wasn’t one they had ever seen before. The look on Bartley and Annabelle’s faces said everything to me… I can’t describe what she looked like. Terror wasn’t a powerful enough word for what she had written across her face. It wasn’t Peter Grimwood that she feared… it was me, or what was inside of me.

  I turned instantly, bolting through the rain and into the nearest expanse of trees I could find. I was a long way from home since my ride had just told me to basically hit the road, but I’d be alright. I’d make it home, only a little wetter than I was planning. So, I ran through the woods as fast as I could, under the cover of the grey storm clouds. They darkened so much that it was bordering on dusk out across the sky. Only the lightning turned the atmosphere bright with what could almost be a replacement for the sun in millisecond bursts. As the storm raged outside and within me, I ran.