Nightly Howls

by Madeline Blake

  I catch it with my foot, wincing in pain as his incredible strength works against me. "Stop, Nico!" I yell, "You are going to break my foot! Please talk to me!"

  "You don't need me," a fierce accusation breaks through my defenses, making me freeze. My foot is pushed away from the door, and it is roughly closed in front of me. "Go talk to... Asher or something! Who it is doesn't really matter to you, does it?" His anger is seeping through the doors, making me sink into a puddle on the floor.

  Why would he say that? I am shocked into silence, edging away from the room now as if it is a ticking time bomb. I... wasn't even given the chance to say sorry.

  Maybe I will follow his bitter advice.

  I knock on the door that is a couple of feet farther along the hallway, leaning against it after the sound is made. My breaths come short and ragged, and saddled with each one is nearly suffocating disappointment. When it finally swings open, I lose my balance and fall towards the ground. A strong form stops me in my tumble, a laugh echoing through the air. "Clumsy Ella," he chuckles, "what's up?"

  "Why is Nico saying that I don't need him?" I ask angrily. A small smile appears at the corner of his features.

  "Oh, Nico is just being overdramatic," he waves his hand in the air, "He will cool off soon-"

  "Cool off from what?!" My voice rises as I interrupt him, anger surging through my blood. Asher looks so calm and collected, though a little surprised at my burst of words.

  "You can figure that out, Ella..." his seductive voice drops to a whisper, and I find myself leaning in closer. “You’re very smart."

  I think over Nico's previous words, feeling unsettled at the way Asher's eyes stare piercingly at me. Suddenly understanding comes to me... what if Nico saw us and misunderstood?

  I shake my head in annoyance, wondering why all this stuff has to happen to me. "He's too angry to talk to me right now," I sigh, "so I'll have to clear it up later. But Asher... did you say anything to him to make it seem even worse than it looked?"

  "Of course." He shoots me one of those dizzying smiles.

  I glare at him. "Thanks. I appreciate it." Leave it to Asher to willingly make the situation ten times harder for me to fix. "What did you say exactly?"

  "Oh, just that we were having a great time splashing around in the pool! That's not a lie, right?" he smirks.

  I punch him in the arm. "You always make a mess out of things, don't you?" I say half-jokingly. It seems okay to laugh now, when it becomes obvious that all actions will just be futile towards solving the problem.

  "A hot mess," he winks, then steps away from the door. "You want to come in?" he invites, motioning for me to enter the room. Realizing that I have truly nothing else to do, I follow his movement.

  It is not a luxurious room, with one queen-sized bed and limited walking space. However, a beautiful desk lines one wall, with numerous shelves full of thick books and various objects, like a crystal globe or a vase with flowers. Even more surprising, the opposite wall features a trophy case, full of huge statues, plaques and medals.

  I walk over to the case, peering at the immortalized men, all in mid-run. They shine like gold itself, without a scratch upon them. "Are these track trophies?" I ask, watching them sparkle.

  "Yes," he says plainly, staring at them also. "I used to be the star track runner on our team." He places a hand on the glass, the tiniest bit of a smile forcing its way onto his lips. I can see the wistfulness in his gaze, as if he wanted to be returned to that time of glory.

  "What happened?" I ask softly.

  His eyes suddenly flash, and he lifts his head from the glass. "I was changed into a werewolf by my brother. He told me it was exciting, that I would enjoy it. He told me we would be brothers forever," he looks to the ground, bitterly spitting out the words, "but all it has done is tear us apart."

  I look at the bottom of the largest trophy, where words are engraved. It says 1st Place in 100 Meter Dash. However, right underneath these words is the word Asher, and his last name is scratched out.

  "I had to disappear from the world I had known and loved," he said softly, "I had to sneak in the school and delete my name from their records. I couldn't participate in sports, because that would clearly be cheating. Everything I had was gone."

  "And I would have been a track star!" he continues, his eyes lighting up, "I could have gone to the Olympics if I had worked hard enough. I would have been famous and loved by everyone. But instead, I had to disappear from society. A different life was now waiting for me... one with secrecy, deception, and no expiration date. I can't look forward to death, because there is no death. I am living a twisted lie of a life."

  "But can't werewolves be killed?" I ask.

  "Yes, but it takes incredible power, and there is nothing around us with that power. There is not a single werewolf for miles and miles."

  "So you hate Nico..." I trail off, still staring at the scratched off name. I can tell the feelings placed into those scratches… anguish and the regret of losing what mattered the most.

  "It is more of a love-hate relationship," he laughs.

  For once, I feel that I understand Asher's actions and feelings.

  "You are a good guy," I pat him on the shoulder; "I hope that soon your life will be worth living to you." Feeling that the time had come for me to leave, I amble out the door, shutting it behind me.

  Great. Now I have no one to talk to.

  I go into my room and lay down on the bed, sighing as I sink into the plump mattress. It is less than twenty four hours before I have to go into hiding, but even now it seems like an eternity. Night is crawling onto the horizon at a snail's speed, each second becoming an hour.

  I want to lose the world, to leave it behind forever. I envy the time when my life was simple and I could sleep without the stress of waking up the next day a step closer to imprisonment by the wolf police.

  Alert streaks through my mind when I recall that email from two days ago, one that called for my termination. I haven't even thought about what would happen if I was found guilty by the council. How would they exterminate me? It is almost impossible to kill a werewolf... oh yeah. I'm not a full werewolf. I'm not even a true Spier.

  But how can I prove that I am a Spier? I can't even do the most basic of all skills; conjure a spirit spear. And what I can do is very much different from what a Spier does.

  My eyesight becomes strained, and I find myself falling into a type of slumber that isn't fully sleep. My eyelids slip downward, and the world turns black before me.

  ***

  There is a sudden squeak, and I am immediately awake. My eyes stay closed, but my heart beats ever faster.

  I freeze completely, not moving a single muscle. The small, nearly inaudible noise resounds once more around the room, and I am sure that there is an intruder. My nose detects a slightly flowery aroma, one full of old and graying age. Alert surges through my blood, suspicion in my thoughts.

  I slowly open my eyes, aware of the darkness surrounding me. It is darkest of nights, almost as black as when my eyes were closed. Without a sound, I slip onto the ground, my feet making no resounding impact with the floor.

  I spot the outline of a small being standing at my closet door, shuffling through my clothes. I creep forward like a snake, slipping across the floor towards my target.

  Suddenly, fright stiffens the creature, and it hurries to the door. I lunge for it with amazing speed, grabbing its ankle. Its flesh is soft like a human's skin, yet wrinkled and weary. "What are you?" I ask angrily, "Why are you in my room?!"

  A small yelp escapes the strange creature as I grip it tightly, unrelenting. "Nothing, mistress! I am nothing." Its hands reach to cover its face, whimpers escaping it. Alarm evacuates me as I hear its voice, so soft and gentle that I cannot be afraid.

  "Don't move, ok?" I ask, and let go of her ankle. I walk over to the light, and reach for the switch.

  "NO!" The creature's shriek is plainly heard throughout the whole room. "Please, no bright li
ght," it begs, "it will kill me." I pause with my hand on the wall, staring at it.

  "Then how do I see you?" I question it softly.

  "Turn on the table lamp," it suggests. I pad over to my dresser and twist the small knob. Soft yellow light floods the room, and I can finally see it clearly.

  Large brown eyes are set in a wrinkled, sagging face, with thin lips and a pointy nose. Her smooth gray hair is in a bun, and her small, three-foot form is adorned with a simple dress and apron. She looks like a perfect, yet miniature grandmother.

  "I am a phoenae," she says softly, as if the name itself is of the utmost importance. "I work here, for the masters."

  Without a word, I open the door and beckon for her to follow. There are small shuffles of movement, and then we both reach a door. I raise my hand to knock, but then my hand freezes. I suddenly realize that I had subconsciously traveled to Nico's room, and that I was not welcome to him.

  Let's try the other door, I think, quickly shuffling a few more steps down the hall. Trying not to be loud, I slip into Jake's room.

  The silver-haired man is sitting at his desk, tapping keys on his cutting-edge laptop. When I am barely an inch away from him he swivels in his chair, facing me stoically. "Why are you coming to talk to me at-" he checks his watch, "-eleven o'clock at night?"

  "I would like to know what this is, exactly," I gesture to the slender creature in confusion, and Jake's eyes widen. "It was in my closet three minutes ago."

  "I guess you were bound to notice eventually, with your newfound abilities," he shrugs slightly, leaning back in his seat. "She is a phoenae, a phoenix-like creature that ages every day, and is reborn every night at 12:00. She and a few others clean the mansion for us."

  "They aren't slaves, are they?" I turn to look at the pitiful, wrinkly creature with a frown.

  The phoenae's bright brown eyes flash. "No, mistress," she says hastily, "My most gracious masters are helping me and allowing me to live in luxury!"

  Jake smiles handsomely. "It is very difficult for a phoenae to get a job and survive, especially since they are very short, have an aversion to very bright light, and go through the aging process at a terrific speed every day. Also, they have an extreme passion for steak, which we have an abundance of."

  "And I get to have it every day!" she squeals. I stare as the wrinkles on her face multiply at an incredible rate.

  "So, in exchange for protection, steak, and a place to live, they work for us," Jake concludes, turning back in his chair to look at his computer screen once more. The taps begin again, and I turn to walk back into the hallway.

  My eyes grow soft as I look at the strange creature with the gentle voice. "What’s your name?" I ask, my words as smooth as honey flowing through my lips. Even if she is a big ball of wrinkles, I feel the urge to be nice to the only girl I have seen in the mansion.

  "Danae," she says shyly, smiling up at me. Her teeth are shiny white and perfectly aligned, which doesn't seem to fit her current appearance. However, something about her unnatural grin is enchanting, making me feel more comfortable. I smile back.

  "Danae, you don't have to clean for me," I tell her firmly, "I can do that myself, unlike these incompetent werewolves." I return to my room, flouncing back on the bed. Danae hurries in also, protesting furiously.

  "But Mistress shouldn't have to do such a thing... cleaning is only for the servants!"

  "You are not my servant..." I look at her plainly, "I do not have servants." I do not think I can bear having a servant, when I was practically a servant myself to Ms. Penn not too long ago. Also, I hate it when I leave my shirt on my chair to wear the next day only to find that it is missing when morning comes.

  "But-"

  "Leave," my voice now oozes with command, "and don't come back here to clean again." She shuffles outside, closing the door behind her. My head flops onto the pillow, swirling with new ideas and thoughts. First werewolves, then Shifters, and now phoenaes?! How many other creatures are out there that I don't know about? Obviously Nico was lying to me when he said there were no other supernatural species out there.

  My eyes will not close this time.

  The night edges away as I shift and sit up in my bed, thinking about everything.

  ***

  Hours later, my door swings open and Asher walks in, smiling grimly. "Good morning..." he surveys my cross-legged form, "or not. Did you have a bad dream or something?"

  "I just couldn't sleep last night," I slide out of the bed, looking into the mirror. I pull my incredibly long ruby red hair into a ponytail, and turn to face him. "I just found out who was stealing my socks every day," I say dryly.

  He laughs, a genuine grin dancing across his features. "Sorry, I forgot to tell you about that."

  "Well, anyways..." I stare at him, "what do you want?"

  "For you to get ready," he says, "we will leave in a couple of hours." He holds out a small drawstring bag, printed with the word Moonlight.

  "Where are we going?" I inquire wonderingly. I stare into the small pouch, wishing for it to be one of those magical ones that fit a whole closet into a tiny space. When I was officially an orphan, everything I owned could fit into that one bag. Now I have so much... stuff I can call my own. Stuff I don't want to lose for fear of having nothing again.

  "Okay," I stare at it resignedly, and then back up at Asher. "How long will this last?"

  His face turns stone still, resolute. "We will probably, if we avoid capture at all, be in hiding for a very long time."

  It is then that I realize just how serious our situation is.

  "I'll get ready," I take a step back and sit back down on the plump mattress, dazed. Asher seems to sense my hidden dismissal and slips outside into the hallway.

  I lay the pouch beside me and stare around the room, looking at my various possessions. What should I bring and what should I leave behind?

  After a second of pondering, I grab my emerald ring from the bedside table. It isn’t needed to keep me safe because I have really bright green eyes now, but the fact that... he gave it to me makes it truly worth a spot in my bag. I would wear it, but it seems to symbolize the good times we have together, and those are the times I don't want to remember right now.

  "Mistress," a small, gentle voice whispers from the hallway. My head shoots up as I see an unfamiliar phoenae peering into my room. Her ebony hair is long and wavy, surrounding a heart shaped face. With big, brown eyes and ruby red lips, she seems to be very young.

  "Who are you?" I ask sharply.

  "Danae, Mistress," she replies respectfully, "may I come in?" I stare at her beautiful features with suspicion. She looks nothing like the grandmother I saw last night.

  "I... look different in the mornings because I am a phoenae," she cautiously continues when she notices my confusion. I suddenly realize that this was what Jake was talking about when he said phoenaes go through the aging process very quickly. It is hard to believe that this short, yet amazingly slender woman will morph into an old, wrinkled one by night's end.

  "Come in," I wave my hand slowly, and she comes by my side. She looks at the bag, and a frown appears on her face.

  "Are you leaving?" she asks softly. I shake my head.

  "No, we are just going to play a little hide and seek," I sigh, casting her a glance to see if she bought it. Danae dubiously returns the look.

  "Let me help you pack," she takes the pouch and holds it tight in her little fingers. The phoenae slips to the closet, viewing it appraisingly.

  "What makes you think you can help me pack?" I say in a rather brusque manner. She ignores me, looking through my clothes. After about ten seconds, Danae pulls out a shirt and a pair of jeans, along with a moderately thick jacket. I gasp when I realize that those three articles of clothing were my favorites out of them all.

  "Wear this," she hands me the jacket, "in case you get cold."

  "How did you know?" I ask wonderingly, fingering the soft fabric. She smiles, the same glitteringly white teeth sh
ining at me.

  "The person that does the laundry knows a lot about the person she is cleaning for," she says, then lifts her arms. "Can you lift me onto the bed?" she embarrassedly asks. I laughingly comply, lifting her small form and putting her on the mattress.

  Danae comes to stand behind me, and places her tiny fingers in my hair. "What are you doing?" I stiffen at the touch.

  "Relax," she smiles again, "and close your eyes." I oblige her once more, focusing on her finger light touch as it skims through my hair.

  Silence reigns for a while, and then she speaks again. "Mistress, may I request something?"

  "Yes," I softly reply, thinking how nice it is to actually have a civil conversation with a girl. I can't even remember the last time that has even happened.

  "You said you didn't need a servant..." she twirls a strand of my hair in her fingers, working her magic, "but I can be something else."

  "And what is that?"

  "I think what you need most at this time is a friend." She pauses for a second, and then continues to fold and twist my hair. "If you will let me, I will be exactly that."

  A slow smile appears on my face, and my eyes start to flutter open. Quickly I try to shut them, but a marvelous sight catches my gaze.

  My hair is compiled into an elaborate updo, with braids and weavings. It looks so beautiful with my green eyes and the flawless face that isn't truly mine. I gaze at the wondrous style, trying to figure out how she did that so quickly.

  "Can I come with you?" she inquires softly, "I promise I won't be a hassle."

  I am still struck silent; partly because of her earlier request, and partly because she actually wants to come with me into hiding. Is a screw loose in her head or something?

  "Of course you can come with me," I reply, "but why would you want to?"

  "I have been in this mansion cleaning for over thirty years," her voice gains an edge of wisdom, "doing the exact same things over and over. I'll miss my steak, but this is a chance for change. For excitement. And what is the point of having a new friend if you can never talk to them?"