August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: The Gypsy (Part 4)

7

August kneeled on the floor, his pallid chest and back covered with whorls and symbols that Minerva painted on him with ketchup from the hotel’s kitchen. She glanced back and forth at the computer screen, transcribing the image that Tobias had sent from America. As Minerva smeared a wide line of ketchup under the helix of August’s ear, August jerked away, repulsed by the sensation.

“Do you have to put it there?” he asked, feeling cranky and sounding irritable.

“Yes. You don’t want to end up like the monk Hoichi, do you?” responded Minerva pleasantly. When he saw her smile, August couldn’t help but feel that she was enjoying torturing him.

“No. I’d like to keep my ears, thank you. Then again, this isn’t quite the same.” August concentrated on the rising moon that was looming in the window, ignoring the sensation of Minerva’s delicate touches along the nape of his neck. He was glad that Tobias was awake to receive their call, and that he proposed a solution so swiftly. Now, August was hoping that the solution would work.

“It is similar enough. The symbols will provide the same protective properties, coupled with a strong, repulsive force that will push the Hex imp away,” explained Minerva. “When the imp is driven off, you will be invisible to it. Unable to fulfill its purpose, the Hex imp will run off. If we follow it, the beastie should lead us right to the person that set it on you.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” asked August meekly.

“Then you will smell like tomatoes. It seems like a worthwhile risk.” A ketchup bottle burped up the last of its contents, and the ritual was complete. August clasped his hands together, then separated them, bending his fingers into the Karana Mudra. He could feel the imp’s tail tighten like an anaconda around his neck. Soon, he found himself struggling for breath. He could hear Minerva’s reassurances, but they seemed to be receding into the blackness that was overtaking him.

“Keep your focus!” He could hear Minerva shouting from very far away. “Breathe in!” she said, and the breath alluded him. His head began to pound, and he felt panic rising in his blood. He fought the urge to stand, using every ounce of his will to remain kneeling.

Suddenly, his breath poured into his lungs. The imp had finally been driven off by the ritual.

“Keep still. It is nearly over,” said Minerva. “It is visible; keep still.” August did what he was told, happy to breathe freely. “It is going for the door,” said Minerva excitedly, “Let’s go.”

8

Just before sunrise, August and Minerva left the hotel. August, wearing a shirt over his ketchup stained skin stalked ahead of Minerva, following the rat-like scurrying of the Hex Imp. On an ornate bridge spanning the Seine, August and Minerva watched as the diminutive creature crawled towards a tent that was standing under the next bridge.

“They have enough bridges, don’t you think?” mused August, feeling exhilarated just to be alive and on the offensive. “Enough bridges and enough water and enough imps. Twice! Twice I nearly suffocated. If we go to any opera houses, I’ll need to keep my hand level with my neck.”

“I don’t know if you need to worry about a Punjab lasso in the shadows just now,” said Minerva, “It is going to be a bright, sunny day, and I don’t see a deformed genius in sight.”

The flap of the tent opened, and the imp scuttled inside. Moments later, August could see the girl clearly when she left the tent, walking determinedly towards the Champs de Mars and hotel where he and Minerva were staying. He wondered what the Hex Imp told her; he knew the imp wouldn’t be able to communicate what the ritual was, as they were incapable of speech. With purposeful strides, she walked along the level, wide street, and August wondered if she was going to try to finish what she started.

“We’ll need to stay a good distance away,” warned Minerva. “We don’t want to arouse any suspicion. Besides, if something happened, we don’t have many courses of action. We’re respected back home, but we have no jurisdiction here at all.”

“Maybe we should find someone that does?” offered August as he walked, trying to seem as casual as a man could with ketchup painstakingly painted on his face.

“The police don’t work with the paranormal at all, aside from keeping the most dangerous elements hidden. It wouldn’t do their tourist trade any good if they let the public know that they have the largest population of witches and third largest population of vampires in the world.” As Minerva spoke, August felt the puzzle pieces fall into place. While they were chasing the Hex Imp and shadowing the witch, they left their hotel room empty. In their rush, they didn’t notice that they left their room’s door ajar. Realizing that the Vampire Folio was protected only by a few illusions, a ward or two, and a safe door, August quickened his pace. He hadn’t told anyone except Minerva and Tobias that he had brought the folio to Paris with him. That’s when he remembered the third person who knew the Vampire Folio was in Paris: Sigrid Koenig.

To Part 5

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: The Gypsy (Part 2)

3

Minerva knew she was being followed. She figured it was coincidence when she saw him sitting in Notre Dame’s garden, and figured it was plausible that he decided to take the same tour on the Seine, but when she spotted him in Montmartre, she knew that he was definitely pursuing her. He was tall, wearing dark, simple clothes. His weathered skin made him look older than he was, and his receding hairline didn’t make him look any younger. She decided that she would take the initiative.

“What do you want, Mr. Kane?” she asked, spitting out his name like an obscenity.

“I was just wondering where you hid your furry friend,” replied Kane with a stolid expression on his face. “I wouldn’t expect a wife to travel abroad without her husband, even less so with another man.” A renowned werewolf hunter, Mr. Kane was in Paris for the convention, just as Minerva was. However, she would never condone the torturous methods that Kane espoused. Glaring at the necklace of canine teeth that was the only jewelry that Kane wore, Minerva resisted the urge to pummel the self-righteous hunter.

“Unfortunately my husband wasn’t invited to attend, and found himself confined to the States because of someone’s inaccurate implications,” said Minerva, keeping aware of her surroundings, keeping certain that there were plenty of people in view. “Besides, August is my partner. There’s nothing between us but friendship.”

“Indeed,” responded Kane, sliding his hands into his pockets. “You are aware that you are being investigated, yes?” Kane’s eyes tracked skyward and Minerva followed his cue. A shadow lurked on the ledge of a crumbling brick building, but there was no body casting it. “There are those that say you are too powerful to let roam free. Just you remember that. Keeping company with a were won’t do much to instill confidence in you as a supporter of the human race.”

“You’re telling me this why?”

“Because I’ve been on the outside, and it isn’t pretty. When the IGPS pulls your membership, it is the start of a terrible road. Just you remember who told you that,” said Kane as he walked away slowly, stalking like a tiger. He disappeared in a crowd of tourists, leaving Minerva alone with the shadow. She wondered who could have sent their shadow to watch her, and what she should do next.

She found herself wandering away from Sacre-Coeur, letting the downward slope guide her to a small patisserie. She looked inside, seeing a variety of pastries and other goodies. She walked in under the pretense of buying something for later in the day, but the sweet scent of sugar and cream sent her stomach rumbling hungrily.

“Allo!” said the smiling proprietor. She was lithe and vibrant, her aura scintillating with all the colors of the flavored meringues that sat in the case before her.

“Bonjour,” responded Minerva, preparing to order.

“Don’t worry. I know some English.” said the youthful baker.

“Oh,” said Minerva, despondent that she was denied an opportunity to use the French she knew. Pointing at a chocolate filled éclair, she asked for two. In moments, she found herself thinking less about the shadow that crawled under the door. She felt that she had nothing to hide. “Let them watch,” said Minerva quietly under her breath.

4

August felt Minerva’s hand on his shoulder, and he drowsily looked up at her. His neck ached from the strange angle it was forced into.

“Asleep in the hall? You couldn’t make it into the room?” Minerva offered him a hand, and August graciously accepted.

“It has been terrible Minnie. No sooner I got out there, I fell for a grift. I should have seen it coming. So, I came back here and I realized you never gave me a copy of the key card. I tried to go back out there, but no sooner my foot hit pavement, a beggar was on me. He was persistent too.” August sighed as Minerva opened the door. “How did your day go?”

“It went well,” said Minerva, presenting August with a paper bag filled with an éclair inside. “I all ready ate way too much today,” she said, smiling. “Aside from this, I also managed to get us a cot for the room. They offered to move us again, but I was insistent. August sat down and reached into the bag and found that all of the chocolate inside of the éclair was now outside of it and all over his hand. He smiled grimly as he showed his hand to Minerva.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to be here. It seems like everything is fouled up, and most of it seems to be because of me.” said August, feeling pitiful. He had such high hopes for his time in Paris, and they were falling apart faster than Crispix in milk.

“Tomorrow will be another day. Just take a bath, unwind a bit, get some sleep, and you’ll have a new perspective in the morning,” offered Minerva sagely. August pondered Minerva’s advice and agreed with a nod.

“Like the song says, ’let my troubles go swirling down the drain’ right?” said August as he stepped into the bathroom, where he found a plush robe waiting for him, as well as a compliment of tiny soaps. He stripped off his clothes as the deep tub filled with steamy water. He let himself sink low into the cradling warmth of the water, and felt the tension leave his body.

“This isn’t so bad,” he said, his voice echoing in the cavernous room. “I really could get used to this.” After about an hour, once his hands were pruned and he was feeling bored, he pulled himself from the tub. That was when he caught a glance of his reflection in the mirror and saw a tiny red imp sitting on his shoulder, its tail wrapped around his neck. August let out a brief cry as the imp pulled him backwards, nearly causing August to brain himself on the side of the tub.

“August! Are you okay!?” called Minerva as August felt an intense throbbing in his brain, followed by waves of nausea. His arms and legs lashed out, seeking the side of the tub. On his chest, the imp sat invisibly, laughing as August’s head plunged under water.

To Part 3 

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: The Gypsy (Part 1)

 

1

“Are you sure you don’t want help?” asked Minerva, concern coloring her voice so she sounded like a mother.

“No, I have it,” replied August breathlessly as he led the way down the hall, staggering forward. Laden with luggage like a burro, his face was slowly turning from pink to red. Minerva followed slowly behind, carrying her bag of clothing. Not normally a manly sort of guy, she was surprised and annoyed that August wouldn’t let her carry any of the luggage. It was a small battle in order for him to concede one, small carry-on.

Minerva found herself wishing that the International Gathering of Paranormal Specialists had also invited Tobias, but since his run in with the police, he had fallen out of favor with the IGPS. That sort of ban was one of the difficulties a werewolf would need to deal with sooner or later, and it hurt Tobias badly when he did not get a letter from the IGPS inviting him to join in on the bi-annual convention, particularly on the year that it was to be held in Paris.

August paused in front of a door bearing the number 619 and nodded his head towards it.

“This is us.” he said, lowering the luggage to the dull, red carpet. Minerva used the card she was given at check-in to open the door. The room was done-up in inoffensive beige tones. There was one window, one television, one bathroom, one water closet, and one bed. Frustration grew inside of Minerva like a thorny rose. August let out an aggravated sigh and slumped against the wall.

“Not again. Not again!” he said, catching his breath and regaining his pale coloration. This was their third attempt at getting a room with two beds, and Minerva didn’t want to try for a fourth, half fearing that August would collapse from exhaustion.

“We’ll just have to make do.” Minerva said with resignation.

“The bath tubs are large enough to sleep in, right?” asked August. “It won’t be comfortable, but it’s only a week.”

“We can take turns. That would make the most sense.” suggested Minerva with egalitarian zeal.

“Nonsense. I won’t have you sleep in the tub. It just wouldn’t be right. Just let me rest a bit and we can try one more time.” said August, sweat still glistening on his face. Minerva was near her limit; she couldn’t take much more of August’s gallantry.

“No, we’ll just accept it! It’s useless; just as Odysseus couldn’t get home, so are we fated to wander the hotel, longing for a room with two beds. Sure, if they send us to every one of their three-hundred rooms, eventually we’re likely to find the one with two beds, but we’ll probably have to endure many-a-trial-and-tribulation before then!” Minerva became acutely aware of how aggressive she was sounding. She could see August starting to shrink in the face of her tirade. “A seventy percent chance of harpies, I’d guess.” She added facetiously, hoping to soften the mood.

“Well, you know how I hate harpies.” remarked August dryly. He walked across the room with all the impetus of a zombie, slumping into a chair by the window. Seeing the view of a hotel under construction, he sighed heavily.

“At least the last room had a better view.” complained August.

“What does it matter? There’s a whole city to explore; not to mention all the convention activities. Stop being such a grump. At least try to see it as an adventure.” Minerva dreaded spending the week with August in such low spirits. She had tried to hide how disappointed she was when she discovered that Tobias would not be coming along; with August acting so childishly, her disappointment threatened to overcome her cheery facade. It seemed like the further he got from home, the crabbier August became. Minerva knew that he never traveled much, but had a hard time accepting that he could be so disconsolate in such a wonderful city.

August drabbed himself from the chair and popped open the window. His dark hair quivered in the breeze. Minerva couldn’t stand another moment of his moping.

“I’m going to have a look around. If you want to pine away for home until the panel on Tuesday, you can. But August, this is a beautiful city. I won’t tell you how to spend your time, but you should enjoy it before it is all gone.” Minerva rummaged through her luggage, searching for the guidebook she packed. It was short, but exceedingly thick. Neon strips of paper peeked out from the pages like fringe, marking everything she wanted to see.

“I’ll leave this with you. I’ve read it so much that I have most of it committed to memory.” It wasn’t an exaggeration; she knew her whole plan of attack by heart, right down to which streets she wanted to avoid. If everything else failed, she spoke French fluently. Half-heartedly, August picked up the book and began thumbing through it. Content that she had done all she could to get August motivated, Minerva left the room, leaving August alone with the city of Paris.

2

August unzipped his luggage, carefully removing the tender scrolls and instruments from his carry-on. He frowned deeply when he saw that his Key of Solomon was broken. He tossed the cracked disc into the trash and hoped that he wouldn’t come across any demons before he found another one. His books survived the trip intact, which provoked a sigh of relief. He deposited his copy of The Vampire Folio into the room’s safe. He had brought is so that he could get it analyzed by Sigrid Koenig, Europe’s leading Bibliomancer.

The folio was tall and wide, and barely fit into the safe. It contained a history of vampirism in Germany, and also hid a list of powerful vampires from the Middle Ages and before. It had been feverishly sought by mad vampires and righteous vampire hunters, but August was determined to keep it in his possession until he uncovered all of its secrets. Closing the safe door, August drew a symbol in the air before it, warding away any unwanted attention.

Satisfied, he stepped out of the room with Minerva’s guide book in hand. He would give Paris a chance. Walking out into the pleasant Springtime heat, he walked the short distance towards the Seine under the watchful Eiffel tower. He had no intention of going near it, but it called him with a siren song whose main verse was “You may never come this way again.”

He couldn’t help but stare at the hulking brown monstrosity. He immediately felt a kindred spirit with the Parisians of 1889. It was a brooding, giant thing with little grace or purpose. Walking closer, it grew larger, standing like a tchotchke sized for King Kong’s big brother. The clusters of tourists wandered under the landmark like ants on a sugar cube lost under a picnic table.

The air was filled with the sound of men carrying dozens of more reasonably sized versions of the tower on large rings. As they shook the rings, the tiny replicas clattered noisily.

“Five for one Euro!” one of the men shouted, spotting August as he skirted the crowd, wondering what anyone would do with five tiny Eiffel towers. As he walked faster, the man pursued him, vigorously hawking his wares. August said he wasn’t interested, but as he was looking at the man, he didn’t notice the young woman in front of him which he sent toppling to the ground, her chocolate coated crepe an unfortunate and unsalvageable victim of the collision.

As she foundered on the ground, tangled in her scarf, she admonished him in French, mixed with halting English. August lent her a hand and attempted an apology in English, mixed with stilted French. When August took her hand, he was stunned by how cold her skin seemed. Her hair was short and blonde, and in need of a washing; she had a pixie’s face and wide, hypnotic eyes. Dusting herself off, her ears seemed to perk up when August offered to pay for her spilled snack.

“You pay?” she asked, sudden sweetness in her voice.

“Oui. Yes.” said August, producing a handful of Euros. Before he could ask how much, her fingers were all ready grubbing about his palm. He closed his hand and jerked it back, and she affected an innocent look that could melt the hardest of hearts. August plucked a few coins from his hand and offered them to her.

“You pay?” she asked again, pointing to her palm. “More?”

“No, no more. Enough. J’ai rein.” replied August uncomfortably.

“Yes.” she said insistently.

“No.” said August, noticing several eyes falling on him. Abruptly, he walked away. The woman made no move to follow, she just stood glaring at him until August turned his back.

“I knew I should have stayed inside.” complained August to himself as he walked back to the hotel, which was not very far away. It was when he stood before room 619 that he realized that Minerva never gave him his copy of the pass card for the room.

 To Part 2

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: The Otherkin (Part Twelve)

A rattling of thick chains fills River’s senses. He can feel their weight and smell their metallic scent. They are the chains that hold King Bodon, and the Old One commands His freedom. River knows that it is folly to let King Bodon through now; the sacrifices the Old One requires are not all in place. However, as River’s strength fails, he becomes desperate. He considers what has always been taboo — unleashing an Old One unfettered into the world.

Minerva’s concentration does not falter. She feels the power of the elements stream through her. River has proven himself to be much stronger than she had expected; she’s never seen a conjuror able to withstand such a prolonged assault. She suddenly feels a surge in the air. It is a familiar feeling, and she knows what it portends. She feels like her hand is being forced.

River is letting the gate between worlds fall open. Minerva has fewer and fewer options open to her; she feels like she is being left with no choice but to kill River. The temptation is there. It is the simplest solution: she kills River, the gate closes, and the world is safe.

“Do it!” she hears the voice of King Bodon in her thoughts. At first, it does not seem alien, and she is certain that the thoughts are her own. “Kill him, and you will have saved the day. It is as simple as that.”

“No.” she responds silently. She directs the Winds of Hell toward the ceiling of the cave, and debris immediately begins to rain down on River. River splits his concentration between his connection with the Other world and his shield; he thinks that Minerva’s maneuver is a ruse, and refuses to lower his magical protection. As a large rock tumbles out of place, he raises his arms to deflect it with his shield. He doesn’t see Tobias lunging towards him.

Minerva watches as her husband, still wolf-headed and coated in bloody fur, wrenches the conjuror’s arm unnaturally. The cracking of bone and snapping of sinew resonates in River’s consciousness. He lets out a painful cry as his concentration breaks like a china plate thrown against a wall. Minerva dismisses the Winds of Hell and begins a soft chant.

Her voice is sweet and angelic, slowly rising through octaves and cascading back down again. River recognizes the chant: it was recorded in a mural within the Temple of Summoning deep within the jungles of Honduras. The words hadn’t been chanted in many millennia. River couldn’t even conceive of how anyone would know the melody of the chant. In moments, he felt the connection between he and King Bodon fading. As the power of the Old One faded from his body, pain remained in its wake. Tobias crouched above River’s body, his knee pushing the conjuror’s skull against the ground.

Minerva touches her husband’s arm, slowly stroking his coarse fur.

“Let him go.” she says lightly, without command or condescension. Tobias yields immediately, leaving River quivering on the ground, battered, broken, and bleeding. Minerva reaches a hand out to River, and he winces. He thinks that it is his last moment on Earth and closes his eyes. But when nothing happens, he opens his eyes and sees Minerva sitting next to him, binding his wounds.

“Why?” asks River, “When you have the power of a god, why don‘t you just let me die?”

“Because I’m not a god.” responds Minerva, “And I couldn’t sleep knowing that I killed someone again.” River looks at her and for a moment sees her golden, glowing aura. Beyond, he sees the girl Kristabel talking with the police on a cellular phone. He shakes his shaggy head and rests it on the ground.

August awakes, prompted by Prabha’s hand on his face.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” she says, her eyes smiling. She is dressed for her shift, her hair plaited carefully, descending towards her waist. “They told me you slept in the waiting room all night. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just really tired.” August replies. He wearily stands, swaying slightly. He gropes his coat pockets, producing his cell phone. Unsure of how long he has slept, August checks the time.

“Don’t worry. Minerva came in late this morning. She and Tobias had some minor injuries, nothing that Contessa couldn’t handle. Right now, she’s checking for any residual spells; I think that they’re clean, but it is best to make sure.”

“What happened?” asks August, “Last I knew, Tobias and Minerva ran off without a word. I got caught up with the police, and one thing led to another. The first chance my body had, it just shut down.”

“The two of them tracked one of Lana’s victims to a cave on the edge of the forest, right by the Gorge. From what Minerva told me, Lana somehow talked the girl into going to a conjuror. The conjuror was supposed to change the girl into a hybrid of tiger and human, but in reality she was to be a sacrifice for King Bodon. The conjuror was almost successful, but Minerva and Tobias foiled him.” says Prabha. She notices the look of dismay on August’s face. He feels like he was left out and that he did not do enough for the investigation. Prabha takes one of his hands in both of hers, looks into his eyes, and reassures him that he did the best he could.

Minerva and Tobias arrive, talking loudly with Contessa, a nurse with limited healing powers. August sees them, and immediately notices the vitality sparking within Minerva. She seems to glow with joy when she sees August.

“If I knew you were on a date again,” she says, “I would have given you more time.” Minerva is filled with happiness; she feels like a whole person. Seeing August, seemingly happy with Dr. Kholsa, doubles her joy. However, when they all go to lunch to celebrate their shared success, she doesn’t mention that she used magic to subdue River.

Meanwhile, River lies in a locked room secreted in the bowels of the hospital. His breathing his slow and low, his eyesight is blurry. Machines ping and beep around him, standing like plastic and metal sentinels. A symbol of binding is written in blood on his forehead, preventing him from using his magic. However, he still feels power surging through him. King Bodon might not have crossed over, but something else did. That something sleeps in River’s innards, biding its time. River feels the same sensation of fear, joy, and pride that an expectant mother would feel.

He wonders how long before the fruit comes to bear, but reminds himself to be patient. As always, good things come to those that wait.

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: The Otherkin (Part 11)

August sits quietly in the interview room at the police station. The room isn’t made for interrogation; August expects a high powered CEO to bust in through a door shouting about mergers and profit margins. His sleep deprived mind allows a smile to skulk across his lips and Detective Worthington doesn’t appreciate it one bit. The detective leans forward; his fingers interlaced in a gesture that makes him seem like a television caricature.

“Mr. Kane took a look at the dragon lady’s wounds. He’s verified that they aren’t from a werewolf; your friend should consider himself lucky that Kane’s an honest guy. It wouldn’t take much for him to say ‘he’s our man’ and get a payday. Half the guys at the scene had already made up their minds.” says Detective Worthington, his cow-like gaze matching well with his constant gum chewing. Across town, Tobias wouldn’t consider himself lucky.

He feels like someone stabbed his brain with a thick needle and swished it around his skull. The next sensation he feels is a strange mixture of cold and warmth; looking up, he sees River shielding himself with a shimmering wall of purple, sizzling energy. Despite his protection, he looks to be in poor shape. Tobias cannot imagine what is keeping the conjuror standing. It is a moment before it registers who is assaulting River.

The old power courses freely through Minerva, using her magic feels like stretching her legs after a long car ride. She called on the elements, and they heeded her as they always did; she formed them into a stream of fire, ice, wind, and stone shards. Minerva’s grandfather Adrian had called this “The Winds of Hell” and when he taught it to her; he pronounced the name with a wide smile. There is nothing to laugh about the Winds of Hell; it is a gruesome and deadly spell.

Skin tears from River’s face and hands; blight blue flames lick his legs, leaving behind mixed patches of charred black skin and frost bite. He can feel his power fading. His arms feel heavy. He wants to just lower his shield and let the cold fire wash over him but he is connected to another power that has begun to grow. He can feel King Bodon’s power growing within him.

“Can you feel me in you?” asks a raspy voice that echoes through the corridors of River’s pain wracked mind. “You know who I am, my child. Say the word, and I will be there with you.” The voice is filled with temptations and promises; no promises are made, no temptations are offered, but there is a sensation that fills River, dulling his agony. He feels cool water being poured down his throat, drizzling on his brow. There is an implication in the voice of King Bodon that if River lets him through to this world that he will be rewarded.

Mr. Kane is a stern man dressed in close fitting leather clothing, a wide brimmed hat casting a shadow over his aged, pallid face. A sawed-off shotgun is holstered at his hip like a sword; a silver revolver hangs on his opposite hip. Heaped in a corner, his coat made of werewolf pelts lies in a grim heap. He has been examining Lana’s wounds and had confirmed that they were not made by a werewolf. Lana’s eyes open and focus on the delicate silver cross that hangs from the werewolf hunter’s neck.

She tries to shift in the bed, but every movement causes a bolt of pain to tear through her body.
“I should kill you now, before you do anymore harm.” says Mr. Kane, his hand resting on his revolver. “It took a while, and some things still need to be sorted out, but it’s clear that you are at the bottom of all of this. Right now, the doctors don’t know that you are going to live. So, if you don’t tell me what I want to know, you won’t see another night.”

Lana’s face becomes fixed with a look of defiance as she silently protests. Mr. Kane’s thumb seeks out a stitched wound, and he presses roughly against the wound. Lana writhes, biting her lip to keep from screaming. Mr. Kane remains expressionless; he was trained by the Inquisition, and they taught him that bodily pain was only an illusion and that it was not to be grimaced at or enjoyed. It was a tool, and he applied it as discreetly as a sculptor applies a chisel.

“Tell me what you know about King Bodon. Tell me why you were trying to call him.” demands Mr. Kane.

“He promised to change me.” says Lana weakly. “I just wanted to be able to be normal; those bitches deserved what they got. They say that God made man in His own image. If so, then I am an abomination, unfit for His Grace, and those women were spitting in God’s eyes. So I turned to another god, one that could fulfill my desires.

“He will empower me, and He will make you pay for what you are doing.” threatens Lana. Mr. Kane’s grip on his silver revolver tightens, be he doesn’t have a chance to loose it from its holster. August barges in, holding an amulet emblazoned with the image of a long dead god.

“Where is he?” asks August, heedless of the surly man. Lana’s eyes turn to August, but before she can speak, Mr. Kane presses his finger into the wound on her leg and she screams.

“I’m sorry my boy, but she is in no condition to talk.” says Mr. Kane. August is tired, and doesn’t have his full faculties. He doesn’t notice Mr. Kane’s subtle torture. “If she calms down, I’ll have the nurse go get you.” Believing that Mr. Kane is an honorable and just man, August heeds his words. He seeks a waiting area and sits. He feels sleep roll over him like thunderclouds across a plain. His head nods a few times, and then his slips away into sleep, unable to fight against fatigue any longer.

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: The Otherkin (Part Ten)

Kristabel sits patiently on a hard bench in the hospital’s waiting room. The bench is as hard as a rock, because, unbeknownst to her, it is actually a rock. Lana has sent this young girl to River, who is a magician that specializes in conjuration, but also knows how to craft illusions fairly well. The room where Kristabel sits is actually a cave; an old oaken table stands solidly in the center of the room. On it, an intricate symbol has been rendered using the blood of Zeeb, Detective Green, and a dozen rats. River provided the rat blood, but Lana provided the blood that would truly fuel River’s ritual. He will call King Bodon to this side of reality, and he will set the powerful demigod free.
“So, what do you want to become?” River asks Kristabel, who sees him now as a nurse rather than a hermit. If she saw his grimy countenance, she would not trust him as she trusts the beautiful nurse that stands before her; in fact, she’d likely run from him.

“I’ve been giving it a lot of thought; I’ve actually been considering it for over a year. I would like to have the appearance of a Tiger.” replies Kristabel with a gleeful glimmer in her eyes. River knows what to expect next, and wishes that he could just tell her to shut-up; he has observed that they all have the same routine and truly does not want to hear it again.

“Aside from being my sign in the Chinese zodiac, I have always felt like a tiger, you know? Like there’s a proud predator inside me, just waiting to get out.” Kristabel crosses her legs, mindful of her short skirt. River believes that she is getting comfortable, and that she wants to tell him more. He imagines her telling him of her harrowing life as an outsider that has felt like they were born in the wrong body. River finds the concept vulgar; he believes that humans weren’t meant to correct what they believed were God’s mistakes.

Now, after hearing saying those words, River feels guiltless for what he is about to do. According to his metaphysical outlook, he would now simply carry out the punishment that this girl deserves for wishing to be something she was not meant to be. As the nurse, he smiles and nods, listening attentively with a comforting smile. The illusion is powerful enough to fool Kristabel, but River has not invested the strength into it that would allow an additional person to be fooled by his illusion. It breaks when a snarling werewolf barrels down on him, pinning him to the ground.

River curses himself for letting his thoughts stray away from his task on hand. He grasps the growling man-beast by its head and closes his eyes. A resonating chant causes Tobias’ skull to reverberate; his vision blurs as sound waves rattle his brain. Kristabel screeches loudly when the illusion of a sanitary hospital melts away, revealing a dank cave filled with murderous tools. She stumbles to her feet; the ground rocks beneath her, the natural reaction of a human mind to the abuse heaped on it. Bile creeps into her throat as she stumbles into Minerva’s waiting arms.

River’s concentration and focus are unbreakable; his knowledge had passed through countless ages and cultures. River can feel the proud eyes of his spiritual ancestors on him as Tobias’ warm blood begins to spill. Warm, red, and filled with vital energy, the blood courses down River’s arms and pools on the table beneath him. The conjurer’s physical strength cannot compare with the werewolf’s thick, corded muscles. River clenches his teeth and a gurgling sound emerges from between the gaps.

Tobias’ clawed hands are made to rend and destroy; he can feel the bones crunching within his hands. The wolf-spirit inside of him urges him on. It sees the unrelenting wall of River’s will and rages against it like a tornado. The recesses of Tobias’ mind are haunted by the innocents whose blood has spilled on the table. He can see their faces and hear their pleading voices. His mind burns, and his eyes will with red, murderous intent.

Two of River’s molars shatter under the intense stress. He can’t feel his arms anymore, and would see shards of bone jutting out from them if he dared take his eyes off of the werewolf. Launching a red-streaked blob of spit into Tobias’s eyes, River says the words that pass through the layers of space and time.

“Ai! Ai, na-hil. Fah-shal, shal-bal, F’rahl Bodon” shouts River “Shut this bastard down!” Tobias rears back, slapping away the conjuror’s hands. Tobias reels backwards and feels his body shrink rapidly back to its human proportions. He can still feel the wolf-spirit in him as it is closed inside of a tiny, ephemeral cage. His body convulses with anger, his eyes lose their focus.

“What the hell did you do?!” explodes Tobias, balling his hands into fists.

“Don’t screw with me, buddy.” says River, his eyes beginning to smolder with balefire. “On second thought, try me. I could use a few more bodies to keep this connection running.”

“What’s going on?” asks Kristabel in a frightened tone. “This is supposed to be a hospital.”

“I’m afraid that you’ve been misled. This is the lair of a conjuror; he has opened a portal to another world and is feeding off of the power of an entity on the other side.” responds Minerva, feeling a ball of force filling her hand.

“What do we do?!”

“You leave and don’t come back. Maybe you should also learn to appreciate what you all ready have.” says Minerva, leaving the girl outside of the cave. Like a soldier marching to the slaughter, Minerva doesn’t look back. She had made a vow, but sometimes vows lose their strength. Each step she took brought her through her life.

“You need to do what you were put on this Earth to do. If you are a witch, there’s no escaping it. Even if you never use your talent, it will pace within you like a tiger itching to be free.” said Minerva’s mother on Minerva’s first day at school. “We weren’t put here to hide our gifts.”

“Fire, ice, earth, air, and the soul; these are the powers that rule the world. Control over them is a responsibility not to be taken lightly.” instructed Adrian when Minerva was thirteen. “You are most powerful when you use your power with a light touch; those works will survive the longest and do the greatest good. However, sometimes you need to just let go.”

“Call Him!” yelled Father Tolland ten years ago. “Bring His servants to this world! You are duty bound. What you do today, you will remember always; it is the most important act of your life.”

“I promise. Never again.” she said ten years ago.

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: The Otherkin (Part Nine)

Tobias collapses nearly five miles outside of the city after he places Minerva on the soft sand. A great dust rises as his hulking form crashes into the sand. As he begins the slow transformation back to a man, he focuses on the waves that lap against the shore in order to push himself beyond the pain. Minerva sits by him, stroking the fur as it slowly draws back into his skin. A flattened bullet tumbles from his shrinking body, leaving behind a tiny, circular scar. In the soft morning light, he looks pale; Minerva worries that he has pushed himself too far, and his dignified silence does nothing to dissuade her fears.

After a few minutes pass, he assures her that he is fine. His eyes, still the eyes of a wolf, hide his pain expertly, but his labored breathing bothers Minerva.

“I said I’ll be fine. A few bullets are not gonna do anything worse than Sebottendorff did. I’ll bounce back. I always do.” he says, his voice still guttural and animalistic.

“You didn’t need to do this by yourself. You really should have…” Minerva pauses, not wanting to feel like a nagging wife. “We’ve been working diligently on this case, and it should have been handled as lawfully as possible.”

“It was taking too long. Min, I could feel the pain of those kids. All they wanted was to be something special, and Lana took advantage; she didn’t think, and she got them killed. No law is worth keeping if she got to do it again and again as we hoped to find the invisible threads that connected her to the murders.” fully changed into the form of a man, Tobias looks fragile and small in contrast to his other, less human form.

“We have to abide by the laws; it’s not like Lana is an unregistered vampire with no rights. Even if she is guilty, you are going to have to be held accountable for what you’ve done.” says Minerva, trying not to chastise her husband too harshly.

“But it wasn’t me.” says Tobias defensively. He tightens the belt on his baggy pants; a life time of shape shifting taught him to dress in loose fitting clothes. His other self was much larger. Tobias stands and walks to the shoreline and pensively watches the water recede. “I got there around dawn, when they were closing. It took some convincing for the bouncer to let me in; they were all ready flipping chairs and clearing the place out. I saw Lana talking to a girl about Bodon. She referred to him as a great surgeon, someone able to change an Otherkin into a true Anthropo. I interrupted her pitch, and Lana got snippy.

“She told me ‘I just wanted to help her get the life she wants.’ and I did my best not to lose it then and there.” Tobias pauses and sighs softly. “Trying to keep my composure, I turned my back for a second. I heard a thud and turned to see Lana was no longer standing. Someone blindsided her; the attacker wasn’t much more than a blur. They rolled across the floor, a streak of blood trailing them. I went to pull the two apart and saw that the attacker was a cat girl.”

“Did she have white and orange fur, with short black hair?” asks Minerva, concluding that it must have been Emma.

“Yeah, she did.” responds Tobias, “Do you know her?”

“We only met briefly. She helped get Malcolm into The Haven on the night that Zeeb was murdered. I wonder if she saw something?” ponders Minerva as she half-heartedly tosses a rock into the surf.

“She must have, because she was furious. I got a hold of her, but she squirmed free easily. She was right back on top of Lana, her sharp claws tearing through Lana, leaving her looking like she went through a thresher. It stopped as swiftly as it started. I didn’t know that the police were outside; I had picked up Lana with the intent of getting her to the hospital as quickly as possible. The rest you’ve seen.”

“What happened to the girl that Lana was talking to?” asks Minerva.

“I lost her during the cat-girl’s attack. I got her scent though.” says Tobias proudly.

“Do you think you can track her? She might know something that’ll help.”

“I can. The only thing that’ll make it really tough is keeping away from the police. I’m sure they’re looking for me all ready. My guess it that they have me pegged for the assault on Lana; I should be able to clear my name, but that will take time we don’t have right now.” Tobias cups his hands and lets the sea water fill them. He wets his face, hair and chest. He hopes that the police dogs can’t track as well as he can. He also hopes that the police don’t contact a werewolf hunter.

***

Her classmates called her Fattie, but her parents called her Bettie. Through Middle School and High School, she followed the winds of fashion. In tenth grade, she dressed like a pin-up model, and in her Senior year she shaved half of her hair and dyed the rest green after getting her tongue pierced. It was all part of her path to finding who she truly was. In college, she fell for an Otherkin and embraced the lifestyle. Now, five years later, she is called Kristabel, and she is wandering through the streets on the far end of the city.

As she wound her way through the urban maze, she was astounded that she had never seen this part of the city: tall, official looking buildings tower above her, and men dressed in business suits pass her by. She feels out of place wearing a skirt that falls above her knee and a shirt cut to expose her cleavage.

She doesn’t know that she’s in an illusion, and that the urban sprawl about her is actually a small strip of protected wilderness. River watches her from afar, his eyes squinting and his mouth bent into a scowl. He presumes that she was sent by Lana, and that she is to be altered by King Bodon’s power. Lana had delivered several clay jugs to River since their last meeting, each filled with blood for drawing the circle to summon King Bodon.

River watches Kristabel wander for an hour before he assumes his role in the illusion: he will pose as a kind stranger, then a nurse, and then a surgeon. The illusion will be enough to disguise him for all three roles. By nightfall, she is at the entry to River’s cave, which seems to be an elegant downtown hospital to her glamoured eyes.

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: The Otherkin (Part Eight)

Minerva lies on the bed, the sheets twisted and thrown back. Contorted in an attempt to get comfortable, sleep alludes her. She wonders if Tobias is okay; since his fight with Sebottendorff, he has been distant. Now, with this case, he seems frustrated, and Minerva worries that he will do something foolish. She remembers how he was when she first met him, and she remembers how she was as well.

The cathedral had been altered; the statues of saints replaced with grotesque forms that seemed to move when viewed from the corner of the eye. As a member of the Esoteric Order, it was her duty to obey Father Tolland’s wishes. She had been a superb mage; she could call lightning from the sky, alter lines of fate, and even raise the dead. However, the fallen priest needed her to do something beyond her ken; he had heard the call of the Elder Gods, and he pushed her to open their way into the world.

Staring at the ceiling, Minerva sees the shape that she called long ago roiling within its texture. The digital clock lends a sickly green glow to the spectral display. Minerva turns on the lamp on her nightstand, dismissing the apparition as easily as she wished she could on the day she called it. Closing her eyes, she says a quiet prayer for forgiveness. She found some comfort in the silence that God granted her. When she worshipped at the feet of the Elder Gods, she knew that they were pushing at the boundaries of reality like a horde prepared to rape and pillage. However, the God she prays to now gives her peace.

In the silence, her mind is freed of tension and her consciousness expands slowly. The night is mostly silent. The bodies of her neighbors sleep peacefully, their souls having wandered into the Dreamlands. A few sit sleeplessly, watching television through half-closed eyelids. She reaches out, feeling for Tobias, and she is startled because he is at The Haven. Minerva rolls off the bed and rushes to change out of her nightgown, leaving it in a silky heap as she rifles through her closet. She wriggles into a pair of jeans and slides a shirt over her head. She pauses, only for a moment, to look at a small box at the bottom of her closet. She shakes the idea out of her head; the box’s contents would be a burden, and worse, if she had them, she would use them.

Winding her way down the creaking, carpeted stairs of the apartment building, she dials Tobias’ number on her cell phone, but he doesn‘t answer. A second call goes out to August, who answers.

“Heya Minnie. What’s going on?” he says. Her call alarms him, but he hopes that she is just calling to talk.

“Tobias has gone to The Haven. I felt his anger rising as he went; I’m afraid of what he’s going to do. We need to stop him before he does anything rash.” Minerva’s voice is armored with concern. Standing on the stoop of the building where she and Tobias call home, she looks up at the last stars in the early morning sky. She knows that they would offer her no solace; the dim void of space only reminds her of what lay beyond the world’s boundaries.

“I’m only a few blocks away from you. I just dropped off Malcolm, and I’ll be there in a minute.” August wants to say something reassuring, but he does not want to say the wrong thing. He does not want to tell her that everything will be fine, because it may not be. Instead, he ends the call and concentrates on driving.

Minerva sees the station wagon bob along as it rattles down the pothole lined street; it looks like a drunken turtle as it ambles down the road. Her feet carry her swiftly down the stairs with the grace and speed suited to the wind. The car lurches forward as it comes to an abrupt stop before her; she reaches out a hand and opens the door. She throws herself into the car, slams the door behind her, and casually glances at August.

He looks haggard; the past few days have taken a toll on him. His hair, while usually a tangled bush, looks doubly unkempt. Dark circles stand out prominently under his eyes, accentuated by his pale skin. He drives in silence, cautiously performing rolling stops at lonely intersections. Minerva nervously dials Tobias again, and he still does not pick up. The radio fills the air with a droning pop song about love that doesn’t bring her any comfort. She crosses her fingers, hoping that August and she will arrive in time. Unconsciously, she crosses her big toe across the toe next to it. When she notices, she also notices that she neglected putting shoes on.

August struggles to stay focused on driving; his mind wanders as his body drives the car mechanically. He nearly misses an exit on the highway, shakes his head in dismay, and turns up the music. He considers asking Minerva to drive, but he knows that she is in no shape. A car blares its horn as August nearly drifts out of his lane; he knows that he is in no condition to drive, and he is in even worse condition to tangle with the forces of evil.

Flashing blue and red lights streak across the façade of The Haven; six police cars huddle around the building like baby skunks suckling on their mother. August parks near their perimeter and scans the street, looking for Detective Green’s car. Minerva pulls free of the seatbelt and rushes out of the car before August manages to put it in park. Her feet slap against the pavement as she runs headlong into an officer that blocks her way, knocking him off his feet.

“Stop that crazy bitch!” he yells, drawing his pistol from its holster. Two other officers swarm over her, pulling her to the ground. Shots are fired as a slavering, wolf-headed man swats them away from her. August recognizes the werewolf instantly. It is Tobias; his silver and black coat is coated thickly with blood, his pointed white teeth have scraps of flesh hanging from between them. As bullets tear into his body, his blood spatters against the sidewalk.

Defiant of the shouting police men, he stands, cradling Minerva in his arms. Someone shouts to cease fire, but it is too late; the werewolf has leaped, impossibly, out of range. August tries to find out what transpired, but many of the officers are shaken and traumatized. He manages to discover that Tobias attacked Lana, leaving her in a bloody heap on The Haven’s doorstep.

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: The Otherkin (Part 6)

Malcolm, walking alone down Main street, is not paying attention to the storefronts and restaurants. He has disposed of his costume; its usefulness having run out, he stuffed it into the trunk of his Mini and there it would stay. Without the costume, he felt free once again. While the night was cold, the briskness in the air was as welcomed as a dear friend at tea time. He pushes at the heavy door that leads to the worn, twisting stairwell that ends at August and Minerva’s office. The lights are on, the door is unlocked, and he can sense the anticipation emanating from behind the door.

Pulling the door open, he sees August sitting on the floor; he is barefoot and wearing pajamas printed with the Batman logo. His hair is a curled nest of black, and his glasses have slid to the edge of his nose. He is not surrounded by the typical scrolls and arcane tomes; an open pizza box sits with a quarter of cold pepperoni pizza still in residence, a black handbag phone rests in his lap, and an open phonebook is splayed out before him. Minerva sits at the desk, typing away at the whirring desktop. She’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans, her hair in a loose bun. Restlessly, Tobias paces, looking out the window occasionally.

All three turn from their pursuits and look at Malcolm expectantly. He feels like a mouse in a room full of cats. He avoids eye contact with Tobias; there’s something about him that innately bothers Malcolm, something predatory. Instead, he looks at Minerva, then August, and then at the center of Tobias’ forehead as he explains what happened at The Haven.

“It went as well as I could have expected. The bear suit made things a little difficult; the head made it really difficult to see everything. I spotted the sigil that Minerva talked about; people seemed to be avoiding it like the plague. I got a bad feeling about the thing. My specialty really isn’t in sigils and stuff, but I could see that it was some pretty strong magic, something beyond what someone on this side of reality could manage. I think the magic was worked from the Other World, at least that’s what logic dictates.

King Bodon is plenty strong, and I don’t think that he’d waste even a portion of his power just to snag a chance at a soul by granting wishes. I’d say that this is how he’d seal the deal.” Malcolm’s face takes on a grim expression, he swallows, his throat feels tight. “I think that someone believes they are in control, and that they are being played like an ocarina.”

“Like a violin?” asks August, smiling and thinking that Malcolm was being strange for the sake of being strange.

“No, like an ocarina. There isn’t a lot of finesse involved, it is pretty straight forward and simple if you look at it. You just need to take into account that King Bodon is much more wise and powerful than you’d ever believe. I wouldn’t be surprised if this plan was constructed twenty years ago, and that our actions are calculated into the equation.” Malcolm sighs, lowers his eyes, “I think that the best thing we can do is nothing. In my opinion, that is the most unexpected course of action any of us, particularly any of you, would take.”

Consternation bloomed in the room, spreading like the wings of an eagle.

“No! No, that isn’t something we can do. We can’t just roll over and let him win. He prays on what people want, he takes their souls. I won’t let him do it!” said Tobias, his voice rising to a growling crescendo. Malcolm steps away from the door, fearful that Tobias will tear through him in order to charge away.

“It is just my opinion, but its based on logic. I know demons, and I know what they do. You can take it or leave it, but I can’t justify helping; I want to help, and that is how I know I should not help.” says Malcolm, backing away from Tobias.

Minerva brushes Tobias’ hand, and his fury seems to dwindle to a flicker. Malcolm feels more at ease. August is lost in contemplation.

“What if you’re logic is taken into account? What if King Bodon considered that you would convince us not to act?” asks Minerva, holding Tobias’ hand with both of hers. She feels his pulse, and it is still raging; she can feel the bones in his hand shift back and forth. She can tell that he doesn’t want to change, but she can tell that his body craves it.

“Damned if we don’t, simple enough.” says August, throwing his hands into the air. “But we still don’t know if Lana is involved. Our understanding of the whole situation is murky at best. Let’s face it kids, Sherlock Holms we are not. A fat lot of good your understanding of logic does if we’re still chasing a hypothesis.” Malcolm’s face reddens, insult pushing his heart to race and his stomach to churn. August locks eyes with Malcolm.

“Did you find anything about Lana?” asks August.

“Just that she wasn’t there, and that there was another murder.” responds Malcolm defensively. “Good enough to make her a real suspect. And if you don’t appreciate it, you can shove it. Maybe next time, you do your own grunt work.”

“Why didn’t you mention this first?” asks August angrily, color blossoming on his cheeks.

“I got distracted!” retaliated Malcolm, “You know, it isn’t every day that I see someone that I was talking to become a cold body a few hours later. You might live in that nightmare, but I don’t.”

August withers slightly, his temper easing.

“I’m sorry.” says August, “I didn’t really think about that. I, uh, we probably made a hasty choice when we asked you to do this. I just never really considered that you would see something like that.”

Feeling vindicated, Malcolm nods. He calmly recounts his experiences through the night, being certain to keep his opinions to himself until the end. As a group, they decide that Lana must know more than she is letting on, and that by finding the murderer that they would also find out more about King Bodon’s plan.

“What do we do next?” asks Tobias.

“Find out more concerning this murder. It is certainly terrestrial; Malcolm said that it appeared to be a knife wound. I’ve been talking to a necromancer that was referred to me by my uncle. I have a spell I can work that will allow me to find out more.” August says as he dials Detective Green’s cell phone number. “I just need to pay a visit to the morgue.”

Meanwhile, across the city, Detective Green’s phone vibrates briefly before it is smashed against the cement floor, a heavy boot falling upon it. In a darkened garage amongst Detective Green’s equipment for lawn care, his ear tumbles along the ridges of a coiled garden hose, leaving a thin trail of blood. A wide, vicious knife, pushes through Detective Green’s ribs while a voice softly chants words of power.

“Ai! Ai, na-hil. Fah-shal, shal-bal, F’rahl Bodon!” echoes through Detective Green’s final moments of consciousness as he fades from his life. Strong arms let his body hit the ground as the slick knife is drawn out from him with a sickening, sliding sound. A smile flashes in the night; “Two, now three more; let them come to me.” the voice hisses quietly.

 

August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: The Otherkin (Part Five)

Malcolm feels hot and the sweat is dripping down his face. He wonders why he let August talk him into wearing a bear suit. He thinks of how absurd he must look while he stands in line outside of The Haven. All around him, young girls are wearing short dresses and animal ears; they giggle and snicker as they gather in small circles.

I’m too old for this, he thinks, I could be the father of some of these girls. Granted, some are cute, but way too young. He folds his arms defensively as he takes a few steps forward. I shouldn’t have let him talk me into the whole fur suit. I should have talked him down to just some ears or something. It is just too damn hot tonight. A woman tattooed with zebra stripes walks into his view. He looks him up and down; she has black and white striped hair, icy blue eyes, and wears a bikini with knee high boots. Okay… here we go, thinks Malcolm, trying to act cool while wearing a bear suit.

“Hey there, Mr. Bear.” she says with a smile laced with sensuality and rimmed with glossy black lips. “You are a newbie here. Want me to help show you around?” Her striped hand runs down Malcolm’s fake fur chest.

“Hey Bruce!” calls Jacob with Emma following close behind. The tattooed zebra girl looks at the pair and flips her hair. Malcolm, not used to working undercover, responds slowly to his pseudonym.

“Hi guys.” he says, hoping that he sounds more Bruce-like and less like a guy called Malcolm whose skin is crawling under an inch of faux fur. “Good to see you. Are we going right in?”

“Since when do you two buddy-up with Otherkin? I thought you were beyond hanging out with humans.” the tattooed zebra girl remarks snidely. She steps towards Jacob, but stares daggers at Emma.

“Back off, Zeeb.” says Emma in a serious monotone, the hair of her tail starting to stand on end.

“The Old Pig said he saw you talking with the investigators. Are you narcing on us? Is this one of them?” Zeeb slides her hands to her hips and looks at Malcolm. “Which one could it be? Looks manly and sounds manly to me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Malcolm, “I don’t know who you think I am, but I know I’m no investigator. I just wanted to have some fun, and my sister suggested that I come here. She arranged for me to meet with Jacob and Emma.” Malcolm is surprised how easily the lies were flowing. The heat makes him feel agitated, and he uses that annoyance as an acting device. He never knew that the two semesters of acting he took would ever come in handy.

“Zeeb, Emma, Bruce, can we leave this at the curb. We’re all here just to have some fun and unwind. We don’t need to start anything.” interjects Jacob, placing a calming, feathered hand on Emma’s shoulder.

“You think you’re getting in after talking to that Minerva woman? Lana said to stay away and shut up about everything. She said, ’don’t even give them the time of day’, and there you are sitting and having tea.” snaps Zeeb, thrusting a finger at Jacob.

“Zeeb, do you believe every pig-faced homeless man you talk to? The poor bastard has no idea what he’s talking about. He can’t even read a paper without panicking about genocide.” says Jacob in a quiet, measured voice. Feeling Emma’s continued consternation, he begins to lightly stroke her hair and scratch her ear.

Malcolm, not knowing that Emma and Zeeb have a long history of animosity, is confused about Emma’s aggressive stance. Watching Emma’s thrashing tail, Malcolm nervously steps a foot to the side, worried that she will pounce at any moment. As he scans the crowd, Malcolm spots a large, apish man wearing a suit wading through the crowd. He is Bruno, the club’s bouncer. The commotion has attracted his attention, and his red-rimmed eyes boil with intolerance.

“What’s all this then?” he asks in a bass voice with an English accent. Menacingly, he cracks his thick knuckles and adjusts his cuff links.

“What’s with the monkey suit, Bruno?” jokes Jacob. Dully, Bruno stares at Jacob for a moment before a smile breaks his stoic and intense expression.

“Oh, it’s you buddy!” says Bruno excitedly, “I love that joke. It’s very, uh, very.”

“Thanks Bruno.” responds Jacob, glad that he’s built up such a good rapport with Bruno over the years. While most would dismiss Bruno as a dullard, Jacob always treated him as an equal, going as far as to encourage Bruno to attend junior college. Zeeb glares at Bruno, practically stamping her feet with rage.

“Sorry, but Lana’s at the door, so if you could, you know, be a little more quiet. You know, not so vos… uh… vo-ci-fo?” Bruno winces, trying to think of the right word.

“Vociferous?” offered Malcolm, clapping his hands over his mouth. I put my foot in it now he thinks. Yet, contrary to what Malcolm thinks, Bruno is glad to have the assistance.

“Yeah! That’s the word. Vociferous.” says Bruno with a grin that showed a mouthful of thick, blunt teeth book-ended by sharp canine teeth. “Come on, I like you guys. Let’s get you inside, okay?”

“But they were talking with the investigators! We’re not supposed to!” appeals Zeeb, frustrated.

“You might as well go home then.” says Bruno, “Because I’m not letting you in.”

“What did you say?” asks Zeeb indignantly.

“Are you deaf?” responds Emma, her words like a whip. Wrapping her arm around Jacob’s, she contemplates sticking her tongue out at Zeeb, but ultimately decides that it would be too childish.

“Well, that went better than I expected.” remarks Malcolm as he, Jacob, and Emma trail behind Bruno, who pushes through the crowd like an icebreaker.

“Yeah, but now we’re going to be watched much more intently.” responds Jacob quietly. “Lana will know that we’re here, and thanks to Zeeb, she’ll suspect that something’s up.”

From afar, Zeeb watches Bruno lead Jacob and Emma into the club, along with their friend. She contemplates the unfairness of it all as she stalks away. She thinks I could go directly to Lana. She’ll believe me. She’s not stuck up like the other Anthropoes. She cares about the Otherkin… Lost in thought, she doesn’t notice the figure of a man that flits from shadow to shadow behind her. She doesn’t notice him, and worse, she doesn’t notice the cruel, rusty knife in his hand.