The Covenant was quiet by the time we got home, its night covered front only lit by a few lights and nothing seeming to be happening inside. As we walked into the front door, I could see the living room and kitchen were empty except for Tara, who slept on the couch. Andrew chuckled at the sight, and I watched him pick his girlfriend off the cushions as he told me, “you get to bed, I’ll swing by Annabelle’s room and see how Sigyn’s doing. Tara texted and said they set her up there since it was still pretty furnished.”

  “Thank you,” I said, sighing as I started toward my basement, “I’m going to make some plans for investigating this ghost, see if I can’t come up with anything.”

  Annabelle had been a werewolf living in the Covenant a good five years before I’d ever gotten there. Tara’s sister and Sigyn’s aunt, I’d heard plenty about her through the two of them and others there with a mixture of the good and bad. Even years after her death though her room hadn’t been cleared out, left as was and only a few needed items taken from it for donation.

  Everything needing said said, I went down the stairs to my room, letting out a small yawn before a familiar scent caught my nose. Heavy perfume with the smell of weed underneath, lots of sweat and tears. A sigh escaped my lips and, shaking my head, I walked the rest of my way down where I saw Sigyn curled on her side across my couch.

  For a moment I thought she was asleep, though the slightest turn of her head when I reached the floor dispelled that idea. She remained silent all the same, and I asked, “how’re you doing?”

  Sigyn refused to answer at first, and it took several seconds of hard staring before she weakly answered, “I can’t stay in that room.”

  “Annabelle’s room?” I asked, moving to sit on a part of the couch she didn’t take up.

  “It still looks like when she lived there,” Sigyn confirmed with a sigh, “I used to visit for a couple times every summer. Usually like a few days or a week, she’d let me set up this tent in her room and I’d spend the whole time in a sleeping bag.”

  I nodded, and removed my boots as I said, “I was an only kid. My dad didn’t have much family he was close to. I don’t know what that’s like.”

  “Ah, it was always a bit disappointing anyway, sometimes scary,” the woman laughed slightly at the fact, “I used to get scared every time there was a storm, the whole upstairs would shake and I’d end up crying next to her in bed. Even once I got older I’d sometimes sneak in, just cause the floor shaking kept me up.” the woman perked slightly at the memory and adjusted her seating to sit up on the couch with her legs folded under her. “One time she misscheduled shit and had a dinner night at The Lady’s while I was visiting, and this big storm hit. I ended up getting so scared I walked around looking for Auntie Tara at like nine at night. I was ten, but you live here you know how this place gets when the wind’s really going and the thunder’s right overhead.”

  “You find her?” I asked, trying to keep her talking as long as I could, while I leaned on one hand against the back of the couch.

  “No, she was out training with Knives,” Sigyn said, letting out an almost absurd laugh at the thought, “Misha ended up being in his room, he was playing guitar and the door was open. He asked what was wrong, and I said the storm was scaring me, so he offered to let me hang out there. That’s why I play the guitar, he ended up teaching me some of the basics as well as he could on his, and I was a fast learner. Annabelle was fucking pissed, she came back at like three in the morning and I was still up playing Horse with No Name.” I nodded, remaining silent at that part of the story as I shifted in my seat, trying to think of how to respond to that without making things awkward. The woman looked confused for a moment, and hesitantly asked, “everything okay?”

  “Ah, I just was thinking, haven’t talked to Misha in a while,” I admitted with a shrug, trying to not look at her, “things were just kinda weird with us when he left.”

  “I never had much problem with him, but… I also didn’t see him more than a few weeks in a year, so I don’t know,” Sigyn admitted with a sigh, “he gave me my first guitar, old one that was about my size he found at a thrift shop. It sounded like shit, but I still have it back in my old room up north. I swear I think he got me my first electric too.”

  “You don’t know?” I asked, a bit curious as strange as it felt to talk about Misha with someone; and especially someone with such a different experience.

  “It was my first birthday after Annabelle died, usually I’d go down for Spring Break if I could,” Sigyn admitted, wiping a tear off her cheek, “Auntie Tara offered to hold up the tradition, and I went. Felt wrong soon as I got up here. Annabelle was buried in the backyard, everyone was still dealing with it, Tara cried every time we did anything Annabelle used to like, even Misha refused to have longer than a few word conversation with me. Only time he talked to me first was when I was practicing guitar and he’d offer some advice or ask how I was doing at it. Tara drove me home when it was time, and when we got there she revealed this amp and electric that had been in the back as a birthday present. She said it was from her, but seemed pretty cold about it.”

  “You don’t believe her?”

  “Tara had already gotten me a pink and black dress and some earrings,” Sigyn admitted, smiling at the thought, “and if she’d gotten me a guitar it would have been bright pink, cheap, and something my size. This was a nicer second hand guitar, but you could tell someone had fixed it up and made sure it could hold a tune. It was dark purple, had an 80s looking spiky body to it, it was exactly the sort of thing I went bat shit for. Most of all though it was full size and I hadn’t gone through my last big growth spurt, they knew to plan ahead.”

  “And that’s why you think it was from Misha?” I asked a little confused about her point, “why not give it to you himself? I mean, it seems weird for Tara to claim credit.”

  “I think he asked her to,” Sigyn said, sighing as she settled back into the couch, “I think he blamed himself for what happened, was trying to make up for it. We had lunch before he left for LA and… he ended up apologizing for her dying, and told me to call if I ever needed anything. Haven’t had a full conversation in like, what, five years? And that’s just something he brings up over pizza like it was the whole reason we went out there.”

  I nodded and, not really sure what I could add to this conversation without sounding weird, tried to change the topic, “I didn’t know you played guitar.”

  “Pretty well, Lucy and I talked about making a band a couple times, doing shows. She had this fake ID, always wanted to play at this bar she likes to go to in Carytown,” Sigyn said, seeming on the verge of tears. I paused, unsure of how to comfort her, and with a shaking breath the woman asked, “she’s…she’s dead, isn’t she?”

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  “What do you-”

  “Lucy,” Sigyn said, holding onto herself tight, “she…I’ve read plenty of, like, urban fantasy and I know that’s not what it’s really like, but…they never survive this sort of thing in the stories.”

  I nodded, chewing my cheek as I hesitantly told her, “I’m going to do my best, at least as much as I can. I…I don’t even know what’s doing this yet, but that can be a good thing, a lot of things leave their prey alive for at least a while.”

  Sigyn nodded, seeming not comforted by the words at all, and she slowly asked, “did you want to be a werewolf growing up? I…I always knew it was a small chance, I mean, tiny, my grandma was a werewolf but not my parents. Still, I just…I always thought it’d be so cool, apparently some witch claimed I should have turned, and now I’m just a fucking human who can’t do anything to help.”

  “You’re doing what you can, and I’m doing what I can,” I said, sighing as I realized that didn’t fucking help anyone, “how about…you know what, if I’m not going anywhere dangerous tomorrow I can bring you. If you want to help me research shit too, you can, I’m still trying to figure out what might have caused this.”

  “I’ll do anything to get Lucy back,” Sigyn said, watching me as I rose to my feet and walked to my dresser.

  There I opened a drawer, fetching the three, thick, leather bound journals I had been given months ago by Misha. Each one, marked now by a piece of painters tape with their order written in marker, carried years of experience with the supernatural and people of all types.

  Not near as familiar with them as I should have been, I nonetheless handed Sigyn one volume and took up another as I sat beside her on the couch. Sigyn flipped to the first page, and I sighed as I told her, “we’re looking for something that kills people in a growing pattern, or under specific circumstances. Leaves a weird moldy substance that smells rotten and decayed, and can kill plants. This thing can also…” I stopped, realizing Sigyn hadn’t yet been told about the seeming effect of forgetting the victim. As cruel as it was, I shook my head and told her, “those who knew the victim forget about them within a few weeks.”

  Sigyn stopped dead at the words, and with shaking hands asked me, “are you…are you saying I’m going to forget about her?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted, giving a small sigh as I rested my head back, “if…if it’s a curse or fairy or ghost, I guess theoretically you wouldn’t if we stopped this. I don’t know how this works though.”

  “Is there no one you can ask for help?”

  I stopped, knowing a few names off the top of my head I could have called and asked and at the same time answering, “not right now. There’s a lot that goes into asking for help like that, and…we do this alone, as long as we can.”

  “Alright,” Sigyn said, sighing as she leafed through the book, “I’ll tell you anything that looks close to right.”

  “That sounds good,” I said, frowning as I heard my phone go off with its generic tone. I frowned, and hesitantly pulling it from my purse was greeted by the name Chaser. My heart dropped a moment, and I quickly told Sigyn, “I need a moment.”

  “Take your time,” the woman said, settling into the couch to read as I quickly took the door of my room that led outside.

  My feet carrying me with a strange urgency, I went out of earshot of any spectators as I looked down the phone. My eyes and ears partly transformed, and I looked around slowly as I ensured that no one was present. Safe enough to answer in a hushed voice asked, “what happened?”

  “Well, I could ask the same fucking thing,” the Purist asked, sounding relatively annoyed, “your dad fucking found me while I was staying at a hotel, held a gun to my head acting like I’d kidnapped his kid.”

  I nodded to no one, the words echoing like a ball in my head as I hesitantly asked her, “are you okay?”

  “Thankfully, I was so confused at first he genuinely believed I had no idea what he was talking about,” Chaser admitted, suddenly yelling something back in the distance before she returned to me, “from what I gathered he apparently thinks you’re some werewolf I potentially know banging his son?”

  “Okay, wait, why the fuck did he even go to you?” I asked in confusion, frowning as I glanced back towards the covenant, “I never fucking mentioned you or anyone, I could have been any old fucking Purist.”

  “Look, I don’t fucking know. I worked with your father a couple decades ago but that’s it. He was ranting about letting something happen, and how disgusting I was,” Chaser said, even as with a sudden sinking feeling I realized a possibility.

  I felt like throwing up at the thought, and after a moment asked, “can you meet up with me?”

  “Yeah, can you get to the diner in three hours?” Chaser asked, sighing as she seemed to calm down slightly, “I’m gonna bring company if you want. I had family in town, working out some old accounts.”

  “Alright,” I said, my head spinning as I paced in place, feeling a bit of bile rise up in my throat. A large part of my brain said I was jumping to conclusions and wrong, and another part worried I wasn’t, “I’ll meet you there, I’ll be bringing a half-one. We need to ask you about something unrelated you might have heard about, if you’re not minding the bother.”

  “I’ll see you there,” Chaser said, pausing for a moment before telling me, “you better know what you’re doing, Bloodhound, because you’re dealing with a dangerous man.”

  I hung up, afraid to say much else as I turned to walk back to my room and nearly ran directly into Knives. The werewolf let out of a noise of surprise, and I squeaked a moment as I asked them, “what the fuck are you doing sneaking up on me like that?”

  “Looking for you,” Knives admitted with a sigh, “look I thought about your offer, can you train Basil? He’s not getting any better, and he agreed to give it a try as much as I think it’s a bad choice.”

  “Yeah, sure, tomorrow,” I snapped, pushing past them before pausing, with a sigh, I turned around, opening my phone as I clicked on the contact picture for Chaser, something she’d sent me of her sitting in the woods. With gray-streaked blonde hair and most of her body scars, eye and ear missing, she was not a pretty sight or an easy one to make details of. All the same, I asked knives, “could you answer a question for me?”

  “As long as I can,” Knives shrugged, looking at me suspiciously.

  “This woman,” I asked, holding up the phone which Knives took delicately, “does she look anything like me?”

  Knives clicked their tongue a few times, looking over the picture and up at me a few times, tilting their head in thought. After a long moment, they admitted, “I could see it in a general sense. You have the same jaws and hairline, but that’s about it. It also doesn’t mean a lot, I’d guess you and Andrew were related before you two on looks alone. Why?”

  “I’m worried she might…I’m worried she might be my mom,” I said hesitantly, taking the phone back and put it in my pocket. It was a disgusting idea, and Chaser was one the few people who knew who my father was so it’d make no sense she’d pair me with her son Hunter. All the same, the Purists weren’t…well known for human beliefs. “My dad always said I looked like my mom, everyone who knew her has said that so far.”

  “That doesn’t mean as much as you think,” Knives shrugged, letting out a small chuckle, “most werewolves are more related than they’re not, at least by human standards, why we tend to only track back a couple generations. Sally, one of the girl’s in Samuel’s pack, is my cousin, and she’s Basil’s sister. Tara’s technically my third cousin, though I didn't find that out until Basil helped her make a family tree. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were related to someone here or in the Purists, if you ever find out who your mom is, but there’s a good chance it’s not directly. Why a lot of newer werewolves get sent to Covenants in different parts of the state, or different states, stops it being an issue.”

  “Alright,” I said, nodding softly as I looked away from them, “sorry, just…having my suspicions. I didn’t… I don’t want to think that, but no one tells me fucking anything.”

  “Who is she anyway?” Knives asked, sounding a bit curious, “I feel like I’ve met them before somewhere, kinda curious.”

  “Hunter’s mom,” I answered, seeing a flash of recognition come from the name, “and apparently someone who used to work with my dad around the time I was born.”