Friends With The Monsters

by Albany Walker

  I plant my hands on my hips and glare back at him. “Maybe you didn’t hear me, but I couldn’t give two shits about Vanessa or her friends.”

  Gunnar’s eyes travel up from my legs and linger on my breasts for a brief moment before he collects himself and focuses back on my face. Good to know the dress served its purpose. “You don’t know anything about them or what they’re capable of.” His voice is harsh. I think he knows I caught him looking.

  Lowering my arms, I saunter away from the sofa and closer to Gunnar. He licks his bottom lip in an almost predatory manner. My heart skips a beat. I think I would like to tame him. The earlier attraction I felt for him blooms.

  I take my time giving him a once over, not shy at all to show him exactly what I’m doing. His black hair is cropped short, and his brow is a little too heavy for him to be classically handsome, but he exudes masculinity. The scar over his lips is distracting me. I want to bite it, see if it’s as soft as his lips look.

  I force my eyes to travel down to his chest. He’s wearing a dark Henley, and there are a couple of buttons left open at the collar, exposing his neck. His shirt, unlike Calix’s, is molded to him. I have no idea why I’m comparing the two of them, other than Calix is still on my mind.

  Gunnar’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. I don’t let it deter me from checking out the front of his black tactical pants and deciding they’re way too baggy.

  “Do you know something about Vanessa or her friends that you’d like to share with me?” My voice comes out a little husky, but I don’t bother hiding the fact that I find him attractive.

  “I know you should be more careful.” Gunnar crosses his arms over his chest again, this time tucking his hands under his armpits.

  I give him a curious look. He’s definitely giving me mixed signals. “You seem to be warning me away every time we speak, Gunnar. I’m starting to wonder whether you know something I don’t or you just don’t want me around.”

  He blinks rapidly and drops his arms to his sides again. “I want you around,” he answers quickly, then his lips thin. “I mean, I want you to be safe. People are willing to do stupid things for power.”

  It’s my turn to cross my arms over my chest. “You’re implying that I have power—how would you know that?”

  “Anyone with any supernatural senses can tell you’re powerful, Damiana,” he tells me, speaking like he’s talking to a child. “Why do you think your friends are drawn to you?”

  “How long have you been watching me?” My back goes ramrod straight.

  Gunnar curses under his breath. “Let’s stop playing games, all right? You knew I was watching you. I felt you in the clearing last night when that idiot called me.”

  “You’re the one playing games,” I accuse petulantly. “I came here to figure out what you’re up to and how you ended up at my house.”

  I spin as someone bangs loudly on the door. Gunnar stalks past me and reaches for the door handle roughly. “What?” he barks, before it’s even open.

  “Sorry, boss. Vanessa is looking for you.” The guy at the door doesn’t meet Gunnar’s stare, instead, he focuses right in the center of Gunnar’s chest.

  I watch Gunnar’s back as it expands, and I can see a fine tremor work its way down from his head and chest. What the hell is that? I wonder, as I step around him and peer up at his face. The veins along the sides of his neck are standing out thickly, and his eyes seem to almost sink in deeper, making his brow even more pronounced.

  “I didn’t want to interrupt you, boss, but you told me to.” The man at the door holds his ground, even as Gunnar stares at him with barely restrained rage. Strangely enough, I don’t get the urge to feed like I usually do when such emotion presents itself. I watch Gunnar to see if his aura takes on any smudges, but I can’t see that either.

  “Hey.” I kind of slap Gunnar’s arm up near the shoulder. His head turns to the side slowly, and he examines me. The man at the door makes a quick gasping noise. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as he leans his upper body the tiniest bit forward, as if he’s about to intervene between Gunnar and me. “We’re not done with this conversation,” I announce.

  The man at the door volleys his head back and forth, like he can’t decide who to look at—me or Gunnar. I tap my toe, becoming impatient as Gunnar continues to stare at me.

  “We will have to finish our conversation later, my lady.” Gunner barely opens his mouth when he speaks, but I do get a glimpse of sharper than normal teeth.

  “Are you sure you’re not a shifter?” I go up on my tippy toes to try to get a closer look at his face and mouth.

  “Ho-ly fuck!” the man at the door mutters.

  I spare him a glance. He’s acting weird.

  “No,” comes Gunnar’s single word response.

  I roll my eyes. “Well, I’m not waiting here in this nasty-ass office while you go be Vanessa’s errand boy,” I spout, mad that he would leave me to go to her. I knew I didn’t like that bitch.

  “You will go where I think you’ll be safest,” Gunnar argues.

  “Let’s just see how that works out for you, shall we?” I cross my arms over my chest again and glare at him. I’m not at all intimidated by his bulking up, or the freaky teeth. Sometimes, I wish I had something on the outside that convayed what the inside feels like. A pair of scary-ass chompers might just do the trick.

  “You will go home.” Gunnar ignores my threat, and I deflate.

  “Oh.” I almost pout. “Fine, but don’t think we’re done. I’ll be back here every night if necessary.” I lean in a little closer. “And I have friends that will help me find you if you try to run or hide from me.” I narrow my eyes at Gunnar, making sure he knows I’m telling the truth.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see the man at the door shift on his feet. Gunnar’s top lip lifts in a sneer as he focuses back on the man. “Why are you still here?” he demands with a sharp bite to his words.

  Without a word, the man about-faces and rushes down the hall. I hear the music grow louder when he opens the door to the club.

  “Don’t send people to watch my house anymore,” I order, when the music dies down again. One of Gunnar’s eyebrows rises, but he doesn’t respond verbally. The look says, ‘I’ll do what the hell ever I want.’

  I ignore him and his look, and stomp down the hall back toward the club. I don’t like feeling like I’m being dismissed. My jealousy rears its head again. I jerk the door open and scan the club for the asshole owner. I don’t spot her, but I do see Calix; his eyes were already on the door when I opened it.

  Even better, I make it two steps before I feel a heavy palm on my shoulder. I don’t have to look up to know who it is. “Gunnar, you better quit putting your hands on me without my permission.” I scowl up at him. He yanks his hand back and lowers his head almost apologetically.

  “Do you need me to escort you to the door?” Gunnar’s features have softened a little, but not his voice.

  “Nope.” I pop the P sound. “You go deal with Vanessa. I have other things to keep me busy.” I make sure to maintain eye contact when I tell him, but then look back across the club to find Calix.

  “Fuck.” I damn near stomp my foot. Twice in one night I was cockblocked by Gunnar. Calix is gone. I scan the area for him, but come up empty.

  “Looking for someone?” Gunnar asks, impeding my view of the dance floor, his lips lifted into a sneer.

  “I was, but he’s gone now, thanks,” I blurt, not at all thankful.

  “Anytime, my lady.”

  I face Gunnar again. “Would you stop calling me that? I thought you had to run off. Go!” I shoo him with my hands. “Be a good boy and run along.”

  Gunnar shifts on his feet and encroaches into my space. Near my ear, he states, “Go home, Damiana. I’ll come to you when I can.”

  “Don’t do me any favors, Gunnar,” I snarl, angry that his hot breath on my neck makes me want to turn around and kiss him. I walk away before he has a chance to res
pond, and before I have the chance to do something stupid like act on the urge to push him against the wall and kiss the shit out of him.

  I’m not even paying very close attention when a man steps purposefully into my path, blocking me. “Move,” I order, not bothering with niceties.

  “What’s your hurry? Want to dance?” He leers at me. Everything about him—from his black-stained aura to his over-slicked hair—is foul.

  “Not on your life. Get out of my way.” Something about him feels off, something that makes my gut twist just thinking about devouring his sins.

  He lifts up his palms as if to say, ‘your loss,’ but there’s something about the hardness of his jaw and the glint in his eye that’s telling me something completely different. He backs away and lets me pass without incident. I take one quick look over my shoulder to find him still watching me.

  I turn on my heel and march right back up to him, and his brow furrows. “Change your mind, sweetheart?” The closer I get, the oilier I feel. I examine his face, looking right into his eyes. He’s human—there’s no doubt about that—but something about him feels tainted.

  He blinks several times, then reaches for a drink, bringing it up to his lips for a sip. Now that I know what to feel, I look around the club for others like him. I’m not surprised when I find them. Several of the corrupted humans are the same people I saw seated with Vanessa in the warded section. Could I really have closed myself off so much that I didn’t notice something more was going on here, or is this something new?

  Too much strange shit has been happening for it all to be just a coincidence. Gunnar’s arrival, Grim letting me see him… I take a step back from the foul man. “Whatever you’re doing to yourself,” I move my hand around, indicating his feet where the sludge of blackness is the heaviest, “it’s going to kill you. And I promise it won’t be fun.”

  His face slips into a grin before he realizes I’m being serious. Then his mouth opens like he might ask me a question, but I turn back around and walk out of the club, happy to be away from the empty feeling coming from him.

  Chapter 10

  “What do you think it is?” I lay down a set of three sixes. Uncle Skinny Legs is folded into the chair across from me. His long, dark fingers are curled around a spread of seven cards. I can’t see his eyes, but I know he’s looking at his hand.

  “Witches, I suppose,” he drawls, his voice raspy with disuse. He rarely speaks to me. I didn’t even realize he could until a few years ago. When he would visit, I would talk and talk, just to remind myself I wasn’t alone. Then one day, he finally answered one of my silly questions—I can’t even recall what I asked now. I was so surprised that I dropped my cards. He promptly looked them all over and made a deep rasping sound that I’ve come to know as his laugh.

  “Witches?” I eye him over my hand, waiting for him to take his turn. “They’re real?” I can hear how skeptical I sound.

  Uncle lowers his hand and I note his blank face, I can just imagine the droll look he’d be giving me if he had more discernable features. It’s only when he opens his mouth that you get to see what he really looks like.

  “Okay, so I probably should have known that, but it’s not like any of you guys are raring to answer my questions,” I grouch, and pluck at my cards. “Why do they feel so bad?” I skeeve myself out—just remembering the oily tar coating the man’s aura—and shiver.

  “Dirty magic,” Uncle announces slowly.

  “Like Voodoo or some shit?”

  Uncle shakes his head slowly in denial. He doesn’t say it, but I know I’m not going to get any more answers from him. He picks up a card from the pile and slots it into his hand before laying them on the table between us. He has a run of four and a set of three nines.

  “What about your discard?” I pipe up. I can’t believe he’s about to beat me again.

  He laughs and waves his hand in my direction for me to go. I still have three cards in my hand, and I have to pick up another. The chance of me going out before him is nil. “Damn it, Uncle,” I curse and drop a discard. I wasn’t able to unload any of my cards.

  Uncle ends up winning two rounds later, and he gathers his winnings of marbles and pockets them as usual.

  “Will you at least tell me where Redmon went and how long she’ll be gone?” I know he’s leaving soon. He usually just sticks around for a game of cards, and then he’s on his way to haunt parks and children’s yards.

  Instead of answering, Uncle lays his hand on my shoulder. He’s a good two feet taller than I am. So, I crane my neck to look up at him.

  “Ugh, why don’t you guys just tell me? What’s the big secret? Nobody tells me anything.” I toss my hands in the air in frustration.

  “We have rules, child.” I look over my shoulder to see Theius crouched near the door to the kitchen. He rises to his full height of maybe three and a half feet, and shakes out his shaggy, grayish fur.

  Uncle gives my shoulder a squeeze before he walks into the shadows, disappearing from view. I don’t even really know how half of them get here, or why they come to me. Are they truly drawn to my power? I’ve been wondering about exactly that since Gunnar mentioned it at the club.

  “Hey, Theius,” I greet, heaving a sigh of relief. With the right bribe, I can get Theius to give me some answers.

  I make my way to the kitchen with Theius close on my heels. He’s one of the few baddies to visit me who’s told me some of his tale. I drag out the stool from under the island so he can climb up. His claw-tipped fingers scrape the wooden seat, but I don’t mind. It blends in with all the other scrapes and scratches from over the years.

  “What’ll it be tonight, Theius?” I open the fridge and peer in. I know he doesn’t care for ice cream, or anything cold really. His legend says he was in a hunting party that got lost in a winter storm and he resorted to cannibalism to survive.

  I don’t know if it actually happened or if that’s just the story told to frighten people, but I do know he’s always hungry, achingly so. And I know what it feels like to suffer with that hollow feeling. “Only what you can spare, child,” he replies, with a small drip of saliva already glinting off his gray lip.

  “You can have it all, Theius.” I wave my hand around the kitchen, hating that even after he eats, he’ll still experience the same emptiness.

  “May I have some bread?” He looks up at me with his dark, owlish eyes.

  It takes everything inside me not to wrap my arms around him in a hug, but he would hate the pity.

  “One loaf, coming up.” I force some cheeriness into my tone. When I reach the pantry, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, grounding myself. I know there’s nothing I can really do for him but offer what I have and hope one day he will find something that will sustain him the way sins nourish me.

  I untwist the tie keeping the bread closed, and grab a plate from the cupboard, placing several slices on the dish before scooting it in front of Theius. Then I grab the large jar of peanut butter from the shelf and slide it over to him as well.

  Theius’s claws gouge into the soft bread as he carefully brings it up to his lips. “Thank you, child.” He slowly savors the first bite.

  I fold my elbows on the counter and lean forward, watching him closely. “Do you know much about witches, Theius?”

  He pauses, making a hissing sound. “Nasty creatures. Don’t go messing with that lot, Dami,” Theius warns, before gathering another bite to eat.

  “What makes them bad?” I round the island and take the stool next him, settling in to get comfortable.

  “How they get the power. Witches aren’t born with any magic. They have to take it from other beings, creatures like me and the one you call Uncle.”

  “How do they do that?” I nearly whisper. I don’t think I want to know the answer.

  “Rituals, murder, dark magic, very dark magic.” Theius sets the piece of bread he was about to eat down and gazes at me. “Why are you asking about witches, Damiana?”

  “I t
hink I met one—at the bar where I go to feed,” I answer, and scoop a large dollop of peanut butter onto his plate, leaving him with the spoon. “His aura was covered in this dark tar, and he felt wrong.”

  “Sounds like a witch. Be thankful it was just the one.” Theius nods his head and uses his claw to scoop up half of the peanut butter I put on his plate.

  “It wasn’t just one. There were a few of them—and a Berserker.”

  Theius coughs and splutters at my announcement. I pat his furry back and reach for a napkin. He dabs his face, cleaning himself up before he blinks at me. “A Berserker, you say?” His voice is high-pitched.

  “That’s what he told me he was. Is he like a witch? He didn’t feel like one.” I recall how alluring he was instead. How attracted I was to him, how I couldn’t really read him. Maybe that’s his witch magic.

  “No, no. Not a witch.” Theius places his hand on the table and scoots back until his legs are dangling just above the floor.

  “What are you doing? You’ve barely eaten.” I look at his plate, he didn’t even finish off half a loaf yet.

  “I need to be going, child.” He doesn’t look at me when he tells me this, and I feel the faintest bite of a sin wafting over to me from his lie.

  I suck in a breath. My friends never lie to me. They might not tell me everything, but they never lie.

  Theius meets my eyes, and I don’t bother masking the hurt I feel. His large, black owl eyes look down to the floor. “Goodbye, Damiana.” Something about the way he utters the words feels final.

  “Wait,” I call in my desperation. Even though I’m upset he just lied to me, I still don’t want him to go.

  Theius, looks over his shoulder once before he scurries back toward the living room. I know I’d never catch him, even if I tried, so I let him go.

  “Lesson learned: don’t talk about witches and Berserkers to Theius.” I look around the empty kitchen and sigh. There has to be someone willing to talk to me about it. Aeson is most likely my best bet. I’ve never seen her shy away from a topic. Now, I just need to wait until she shows up. It’s too bad she doesn’t have a cell phone.