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 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.

Thing-A-Week 8: August and Minerva, Investigators of the Supernatural: The Otherkin (Part Four)

Deep in the forest, far from the lights of the civilized world, Lana creeps towards the mouth of a cave. The stones that litter the ground are marked with strange sigils; they ward off trespassers, but Lana has no worries: she is welcome here. She walks into the cave where her preternatural sight serves her well. The world of the cave, black to any other visitor, is alive with color to Lana. She scans the area, looking for the hermit called River. She looks upon his trappings; wilted flowers and drying herbs are scattered on the floor and hung from the ceilings, a table stained with blood and wine, and a mattress stuffed with leaves that crunch as the hermit turns to awaken.

“You failed, River, and I can’t have that.” she hisses, her serpentine features sharp and emotionless. She picks up a clay vessel from the table and sniffs it casually. It stinks of urine and blood.

“I said that the procedure was questionable, that it might fail, that she might die, but you insisted. You said that Bodon could send his power across the gulfs of the abyss, you said that he wouldn’t need to be summoned here.” He replies in a raspy voice. Draped in rotting animal skins and wearing a flannel night shirt, River stumbles to his feet, unable to gain his balance in a world that rocks like a boat. He puts a hand to his head, trying to keep his brain from floating away.

“He can. He is strong, It is your magic that is weak. With such meager tools, can you really expect to do his work?” Lana states as she paces impatiently, lecturing River on his faults and musing about his responsibility in the failure perpetrated a week ago. Lana had brought Francine Keene to the cave, allowed her to make her dreams come true. River had opened a gate, allowing King Bodon’s power to change Francine, but the power eventually failed, and Lana concluded that River was at fault. She glares at him disdainfully while he grabs an ancient glass decanter and relieves himself in it.

“I work with what I have. The gods, demons, angels, and spirits don’t care about the presentation, they only care about the opportunity. They’ll take any chance to influence our world.” Snorting and pulling phlegm up from his lungs, River spits a yellowy globule of phlegm into the green glass decanter.

“Are all of these things necessary? It all seems so theatrical and excessive; the lifestyle, the stench: it‘s like practicing Catholicism when Protestantism would do well enough.” A furtive smile passes her lips, ending as a smirk that nearly reveals a row of sharply pointed teeth. She stands contropasto, pushing the ropey tendrils of golden hair from her face and staring at River critically, wondering if he really is the best choice for the task at hand.

Moodily, feeling like Icarus after crashing to the earth, River strokes his tangled, bushy beard. He sniffs the air and contemplates the smell, thinks that it isn’t all that bad, and shakes his head. “I choose my life, you choose yours. It’s too hard for me to fit in the human world.” A laugh rattles in he throat, causing him to expectorate a thick, mucous blob. “That’s funny, you know. I’m a human, and I have no place amongst them. You are part dragon and you are loved by them, trusted by them.” A gapped-toothed, sardonic grin hides behind his beard but can be read easily in his eyes. Lana fails to see his amusement.

Unsettled by Lana’s emotionless reptilian stare, River fusses with the button on his nightshirt. He watches her eyes intently, but the slit pupils and orange irises reveal nothing. River begins to sense a malevolence in her silence; a primal part of him sees her serpentine features in a sinister light, and he feels his heart pump more swiftly. Unconsciously, his muscles tense, preparing to spring away.

“So what do you want? Just to tell me that F’rahl Bodon’s power has failed?” asks River, his eyes casually searching for a bone handled knife that he’s certain he had left on the table the night before last.

“Don’t use that name. You will call him King.” responds Lana coldly and with conviction. “Only those that worship him may call him by that name.” She sees the tension in River’s posture, draws an imaginary line from his eyes to the knife on the table. Understanding River’s apprehension and discomfort, she withdraws physically, not desiring a physical conflict. Her delicate hands slide along the curves of her hips as she exposes her palms, saying “I’m sorry for my zeal, but you must understand my position and feelings. I know of King Bodon’s power, and it can be a terrible thing. I know of its strength, and I believed that it could be trusted.

“He has never failed me, and in the fire of the moment, I threw an undue accusation. It is possible that it is your fault, but there are other explanations. However, you must understand, I have many more people interested in undergoing the procedure, and I have much depending on this being reliable. Do you understand?”

River listens to Lana and is slowly seduced by her words. Lana tells him how much she needs his help, and soon, after feeling her cool hand on his face, River is anxious to help her. He no longer feels wary of her, instead he craves her attention, unaware of the subtle manipulation she perpetrates. They stand at the cave’s entrance, a cool, night breeze chasing through the trees. Each knows how near they are to the city, yet it feels as though they are the only people in the world as they speak in the darkness.

“I need you to call him over. His strength is too diluted when it is pulled through a tiny hole. We need him here.” Says Lana. River feels himself saying “yes”, though he doesn’t remember saying it after Lana leaves. Instead, he only feels the precipitous decision weigh cripplingly on his shoulders. He ponders the steps he must take now that he has given his word; he ponders the lives he must take so that his promise could be fulfilled.