by Kody Boye
“You have extra room in your RV. You could easily take off with her.”
“I’m not letting her go alone,” Jackson says.
“She wouldn’t be alone, son.”
“It’s not right to chase her off though, Dad.”
“No one’s chasing anyone off!” I say. “I’m staying here, and that’s final!”
None of the men reply.
A knock comes at the door, startling me from my thoughts.
“Can I come in?” Justin asks through the crack in the door.
“Come in, Justin,” Bernard says.
The door opens. The man steps in. He closes the door behind him, then says, rather blankly: “She can stay with me.”
“Wait. What?” Bernard asks.
“I have an extra room in my trailer,” he replies. “I… I wouldn’t ask for much. Just for you to help clean up. But… it’s something that we can do until this all blows over.”
“It isn’t going to blow over,” I say. “Because they’re just going to go after the people I care about next.”
Zachariah lifts his eyes.
Jackson draws closer. The heat of his bare skin is rising, and causing me to tremble in spite of all the hate and anger I feel toward this small town.
“No,” I say, and shake my head, adamant in my refusal to cave to the pressures upon me. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m done running from the people trying to ruin my life.”
“Oaklynn—“ Jackson starts.
“This has gone enough long enough,” I continue, turning my eyes from Jackson, to Zachariah, to Bernard and, finally, to Justin. “If they think they can scare me, they’ve got another thing coming.”
None of the men reply.
When it finally comes time for someone to speak, it’s Jackson, who says, “If the Wells family really did throw the brick through our window, they’re going to come at Oaklynn guns blazing.”
“Which is why we have to be even more careful than we were before,” Zachariah replies. He turns his eyes on me and sighs before saying, “Oaklynn.”
“Yes?”
“Are you absolutely positive you want to stay here?”
“I already said—“
“I know. You don’t want to run.” The man sighs and crosses his arms over his chest before turning his gaze toward the window. He appears to think long and hard for several moments—brows lowering, eyes narrowing—before sighing sand saying, “I think…”
“You think… what?” Jackson asks, and takes a step forward.
“I think it’s time we get the Agency involved.”
Chapter Thirteen
“The Agency?” Jackson asks with a frown. “What are you talking about? What Agency?”
Zachariah Meadows turns to face the two of us. There is a sadness in his gaze, a tense set to his jaw. The frustration can easily be seen on his lips, but it is the look in his eyes that makes my question what, exactly, he has just suggested.
Is he— I start to think.
But I stop before I can continue, he steps forward, and says, “I hoped I’d see the day when I didn’t have to tell you kids about this.”
“About what?” Jackson asks once more. “You’re making me nervous, Dad.”
“As you should be,” Zachariah replies. “But now that I’ve mentioned it, there’s no point in denying it any further.”
“What aren’t you telling us?” I ask.
“That there’s a bigger world out there than either of you believe.”
Jackson and I both blink.
Zachariah then says, “The Agency is a coalition of people that handles the affairs of the supernatural world.”
“You mean, like, an organization,” Jackson says.
His father nods. “Yes. Like an organization.”
“And you haven’t told us about this why?”
“Because I was waiting until you were old enough.”
“I’m eighteen, Dad.”
“Sometimes you’re never old enough to know stuff like this.”
I frown.
Jackson grits his teeth.
His father sighs once again and says, “There’s a whole slew of problems that come as a result of being entrenched within the supernatural world. Needing to remain discreet. Needing to control potential outbreaks of information. Needing to control potentials for violence. This is what the Agency does, and what their Hunters strive to handle when things get bad.”
“What is a Hunter?” I ask, taking a step forward.
“Someone who has dedicated their life to handling the affairs of the supernatural world.”
“Wait. You’re saying supernatural world,” Jackson says. “Are you telling us that there’s—“
“More to the eye than you’d believe? Yes, son. There is.”
A silence follows, during which time both Jackson and I remain stoic, our backs ramrod straight and our eyes set ahead. What Mister Meadows has just said is inarguably incomprehensible, yet, at the same time, makes all too much sense.
Does this mean, I think, that I’ve been living in the shadow of another world all along?
“Hunters,” Zachariah Meadows continues, not bothering to wait for either of us to ask, “are individuals who are assigned territories—usually spanning two or more states—to protect. They act as agents of the Agency, and are usually paired with a partner who possesses the innate ability to control people’s thoughts and, even sometimes, actions.”
“You mean… they can make them forget?” I ask.
“Exactly.”
I shiver as I consider this logic, and find myself dreading everything I have ever experienced as a result.
The fire—
Jackson’s rescue—
My knowledge—
My transformation.
From the way Mister Meadows is speaking of this, it appears that this Agency—whatever it happens to be—holds sway of the supernatural world. In that sense, I can’t help but wonder if they even help control the number of people who are turned or who become Supernaturals.
If they would control someone like me.
My heartbeat quickens. My mind races like a car in overdrive. My body, though, trembles; and no matter how hard I try to prevent it from doing so, I can’t help but shiver.
Jackson asks, “Are you all right?”
And I reply by saying, “I’m… I’m not—“
“It’s a lot to take in, especially when you’ve been conditioned to believe that only Wolf Shifters exist.”
“What do you mean only Wolf Shifters?” Jackson asks. “Are you saying there are other types of Shifters?”
“Bonded to animal gods. To nature. To magic.”
“Magic?” I ask.
Zachariah smiles. “Did you not think what we were ordinary beings?”
“I mean… I knew we were supernatural, but not… not magical.”
The man nods and shifts his weight onto his better leg, careful to angle the cane into a comfortable position. “We are classified as magical beings. Not terrestrial. Not extraterrestrial.”
“Extra terrestrial?” Jackson asks. “You mean… like… aliens?”
Zachariah nods. “Yes. I mean just that.”
Jackson reaches up to tug at his hair. “This is too much,” he says. “This is really, really too much.”
“You’ll adjust, in time.” The man turns his eyes to face me. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I need to ask Oaklynn if she would be willing to have a Hunter and their partner come to deal with our problem.”
“I don’t think I can deal with it on my own,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest. “As much as I’d like to think that I could, I just… I don’t see how I can solve this problem.”
“Good,” Zachariah says. “I’ll need to contact their emergency hotline, so please, give me a few moments while I prepare to call them.”
“Dad?” Jackson asks as his father begins to walk down the hall.
“Yes, son?”
“What about… whatever’s going to happen?”
“Pray to the Mother Wolf that it doesn’t.”
With that, Zachariah turns and makes his way down to his room, leaving Jackson and I to stand there in silence.
There is no way to willingly process everything I have just been told.
We—Shifters who can change into wolves by mere thought—are not the only supernatural beings in existence.
The thought is almost too much to comprehend.
Remain calm, I think. If Mister Meadows says someone can handle this problem, someone can.
But just because someone says someone can handle a problem doesn’t necessarily mean that they can.
While the thought leaves me apprehensive, Jackson appears to be anything but. Rather, he appears angry—to the point where he stares daggers down the hall at the door his father has just entered through and closed behind him.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Of course I’m not okay!” Jackson says. “I’ve just had my whole world pulled out form under me.”
“So have I,” I say.
“Your world was already like that. Mine wasn’t.” He crosses his arms over his chest and continues to glare down the hall. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me.”
“Maybe he thought it was better that you didn’t know,” I reply.
“Why, though? Why would he think that?”
“Honestly, Jackson? I don’t know. I’m just trying to present reasons.”
“This is just…” He shakes his head. “You know what? Whatever. I think I’m done for now.”
“Where are you going?” I ask as he begins to march down the hall.
“To my room,” he says, then stops when he reaches his doorway to turn and face me. “Let me know if you need anything,” he then adds.
Then, he enters the room, and slams the door behind him.
Leaving me to bask in this newfound knowledge alone.
I tuck myself back into bed on this cold and lonely day with the knowledge that someone could come at any moment. Scared witless, but unwilling to cave to my fears, I pull the blankets up over my body and curl onto my side with the knowledge that this problem, as brazen and deadly as it happens to be, will soon be solved.
Someone’s going to come, I think, and deal with everything that’s occurred.
How that will happen I cannot necessarily be sure. For all I know, the person who can influence minds could simply make whomever is threatening us quit. However—that does not solve the potential for violence in the town, nor does it erase the history of what has occurred.
Me—
The Dark Wolf—
Forced to cave in—
Running to the slaughter—
Four are dead, and one’s arm is gone, all because of the foolish mistake I made.
I try my hardest to keep from faltering in light of everything that has happened—to keep from breaking down just like I did the other day—but find myself on the verge of emotional collapse.
It’s their fault, I think. Their fault all this happened. Their fault I wanted this revenge.
“Their fault that I became sick with rage.”
My voice is deadly. Like a monster swift to create terror, its impact swoops down on me, and causes tears to form in the corners of my eyes.
I want so badly for someone to understand my plight. For someone to know what I’m going through. For someone to simply take all the pain away.
I blink, stunned, as a thought comes back to me.
Mister Meadows said, I start to think, that the Hunter’s companion could sway minds.
Could this person, so swift to alter minds, possibly make me forget everything that has happened?
I shake my head.
No. I can’t think about that. I can’t even begin to consider that—not when I’ve already submitted myself to the change, and the family I have found as a result of it.
A sigh passes through my mouth from my lungs, and causes me to shiver once more.
The truth, so painful I would rather die, is that I cannot forget everything. Because if I were to forget, and I were to start anew, I would always question what exactly had happened.
That thought, secured firmly in my mind, is what makes me realize that I can’t allow myself to cave to the more appealing of two options.
If I want to survive in this world—and if I want to make sure the people around me do as well—then I have to remember everything that has happened.
Even if I a part of me wishes to die as a result of it.
Chapter Fourteen
The afternoon comes, and with it, the knowledge that I will soon learn more than I could have ever imagined.
The acts of crawling from bed, wandering into the bathroom, showering, dressing, and then applying makeup are physical tests of my emotional endurance, and cause me to feel run down even before the day has truly begun.
By the time I’ve finished, I want to do nothing more than crawl back into bed.
But you can’t, I think, because they’re coming.
I can only hope they’ll bring along a solution.
Sighing, I pull my hair back into a ponytail, then exit into the hallway.
Though Jackson’s door is cracked open, it is the voices drifting down the hall that catch my attention.
“You’re sure this will work?” the young man asks.
“There’s no assurance that anything they do will work,” his father replies. “We just have to have faith in their investigation skills.”
“Us? Have faith?” Jackson laughs. “Since when have we been able to have faith in other people?”
“Since we’ve become the center of an interspecies conflict.”
I swallow the lump developing in my throat, then begin to step down the hall.
A creaking plank beneath my feet gives my location away nearly instantly.
“Oaklynn?” Zachariah asks. “Are you awake?”
“I’m awake,” I reply.
“Good. I just got word. They’ll be here within the hour.”
“Where are they coming from?” I ask, unsure how, or if, I should feel anything.
“Just outside Shreveport. The agent was on standby when they were called in.”
I sigh, but say, “Okay. I… I guess that’s good.”
“It’s better than having to wait up at night,” Zachariah says. I hadn’t noticed the dark circles under his eyes until just now.
“They’ll take over for you, I take it?” I ask.
“Yeah. They will.”
Zachariah doesn’t speak on the topic further. Rather, he steps into the kitchen, then leans forward and begins to prepare the afternoon’s lunch, leaving me and Jackson to stand in the living room looking out at the dirt road.
As the sound of sizzling bacon begins to cut through the air, I lean forward to look out the window and say, “You don’t believe this is going to work, do you?”
“You heard us,” the young man offers, “didn’t you?”
“Yeah. I did.”
Jackson frowns, but rather than speak, steps forward to consider the outside world alongside me. It takes several moments before he speaks again. “I… just don’t want to have too much faith in people who aren’t us. You know?”
“I know you don’t,” I say. “But…”
“There’s always a but,” Jackson offers.
“I don’t see how we can solve this problem on our own. Not without resorting to more violence, or, you know… worse.”
Jackson nods. “I gotcha.”
The tense moments pass in eerie silence, during which the two of us perch on the window seat and watch the drive for any sign of movement. Though Bernard’s RV is silent, and the road is undisturbed, a part of me feels as though they are going to arrive sooner rather than later.
My feeling is confirmed only a moment later—when, from far up the road, a sleek chrome motor home comes rolling down the drive.
“That must be them,” Jackson sa
ys.
Zachariah appears beside us, wiping a hand on his apron. “Let me go speak with them first,” he says.
The two of us nod and make our way into the kitchen to watch the exchange from a better vantage point.
“What do you think the agents will look like?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Jackson replies. “Maybe it’ll be some big bad monster hunter type.”
“Or maybe he’ll look like an ordinary person,” I offer.
Jackson shrugs.
I lean forward as the motor home pulls up on the road opposite Bernard’s RV.
Mister Meadows has just stepped out from under the awning when the door opens to reveal a very tall, slim, and immaculately-dressed Asian man.
“Is that—“ I start to say.
“Him?” Jackson asks. “Maybe.”
“Or is it—“
I stop before I can finish.
Behind him appears a young black woman—who, though only appearing to be in her mid-twenties, radiates an authority I know must come from her position.
“I think,” I start to say, “that’s her.”
“Her?” Jackson asks, openly gawking out the window. “You mean… you think she’s the Hunter?”
“Why wouldn’t she be?” I ask.
“I dunno. It’s just… she doesn’t seem all of that—“
“Imposing?”
Jackson shrugs.
“Maybe that’s how they’re supposed to look,” I say.
I turn my eyes back to the window just in time to meet her gaze. She stares only for a moment before turning her gaze back to Zachariah.
“We should probably eat,” Jackson says, “before we go out and talk to her.”
“I… I guess.”
So we settle into the bar stools, serve ourselves the bacon and tomatoes, eat our BLTs casually as though nothing is happening. While doing so, I try to keep from snooping with my enhanced hearing, but hear snippets of conversation no matter how hard I try to block it out.
“Dark Wolf.”
“Slaughter.”
“Four dead, one maimed.”
“A problem.”
A problem, I think, and sigh.
That same word that’s been plaguing me since this whole ordeal began.
By the time I’ve finished eating, I feel ready to burst.