by ML Michaels
Panic spread through the base of Emma’s spine. “What?”
Kevin looked up, his yellow eyes fixed on Emma. Wolf eyes.
“I couldn’t let you leave even if you wanted to.”
Emma screamed, launching herself at the door, but Kevin was too fast. He cut her off.
“We were fine with you two staying out of it, Emma. That’s the agreement your family made. So imagine my surprise when I see you at the store, here just in time for the fight.” He stalked her like a predator stalks prey. He took a step toward her, and she backed up toward the window. She knew she would never get it open before he could lunge. Even if she could, it would be a two-story drop.
“I didn’t want to get involved with this, Kevin. Please,” she breathed.
“Doesn’t matter, Em. You helped a Blackthorn. You’re in this.”
Emma felt the wall against her back. Nowhere else to run.
“I won’t like having to explain this to Evelyn. She always did want to protect you.”
He tensed his hand into a claw, and razor-sharp nails grew out from the edge of his fingers.
“Kevin, please,” Emma whispered as he raised his hand.
The sound of shattering glass splintered the air, and a shadow knocked Kevin back against the dresser. Jake, barefoot and shirtless, backed up to stand in front of Emma. His chest was heaving, and when he looked over his shoulder at her, she saw that his eyes were a bright yellow, as well.
“Did he hurt you?” he asked. His voice was the same as the one she’d heard in the clearing all those years earlier. He’d been telling the truth.
Kevin stood, letting out a low growl that turned into a laugh. “You just started a war, Blackthorn,” he said. “And your pathetic human will be the first to die.”
Jake shot his claws out and took a swipe at Kevin, who sidestepped and shoved Jake against the bed before tackling him.
They tangled on the floor, knocking over the dresser with a loud crash. Emma kneeled down, frantically searching through the bedside table drawer for something she could use.
“Emma! Get out of here!” Jake growled. There was blood on the carpet, but Emma didn’t know who or where it was coming from.
The doorway was clear. She could run. But she wasn’t going to leave Jake alone with Kevin.
Her fingers brushed up against a letter opener. She pulled it out and yanked it from its sheath. Little imprinted words on the metal revealed that it was sterling silver. Emma didn’t know much about werewolf lore, but she knew enough. With a lunge, she jumped forward and dug the silver into Kevin’s back.
He arched back with a howl, and his flesh sizzled. Jake pushed himself up and, with one swooping movement, picked Emma up in his arms and jumped out the window.
Emma didn’t even feel them land.
“Hold on,” Jake said, taking off into a full sprint.
Emma looked back over his shoulder as Kevin came to the window.
“This isn’t over, Blackthorn!” he shouted into the freezing night.
***
They didn’t stop running until they reached the highway. Jake hotwired a car at a gas station, and they took off down the mountain, stopping several miles away at a dingy motel.
“I called Evelyn. We’ll kill a few hours here until she comes to get us. Then we’ll get out of town. Just stay put, okay?”
Jake rifled around the trunk until he found a hoodie and some sneakers. A few minutes later, he had a room key in one hand and hot coffee in the other, and led Emma to their room on the second floor.
Emma sat on the bed of their room, her hands shaking even as he handed her the coffee.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry for everything.”
Jake locked the door and then walked over to her, dropping to his knees in front of her.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not coming to you that night, and for ignoring the pull I felt in my heart every day after that. You have no idea how many times I wanted to come find you and tell you everything, Emma. To explain. To–”
She reached up, pulling his lips to hers with a sudden fury. He growled lowly and slipped his tongue between her lips, and she pulled him back onto the bed. He pressed against her, his mouth moving hungrily as he put his hands on either side of the bed. It was a kiss that set her on fire, one that made her forget about the terror of the night, even if only for a minute.
He pulled back, kissing her jaw and working down to her neck.
“Is this… safe?” she whispered. Jake pulled back and looked at her.
“I mean. You’re a…”
Jake smiled and nodded, and then lifted his hands, letting his claws shoot out.
“A this?” he said, gesturing to his hands. Emma looked at the razor sharp claws in the lamplight, and then nodded. Jake let the claws sink back into his hands.
“I would never let anything hurt you, Emma. I will keep you safe.”
A piece of hair fell into his eyes, and she pushed it aside. He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers.
“If anything, Emma Kincaide, I’m the one in danger, here.”
“Oh, yes. I’m such a danger,” she whispered against his lips.
He pulled back again, and then ran a finger down her cheek. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this, Emma. How badly you could destroy me. Believe me. You’re dangerous.”
She pulled him back down, pressing his lips to hers.
“I’ll keep you safe, too,” she whispered, reaching over to turn off the light.
The End
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What Ella Sees
By Bess Hart
On the outskirts of a small rundown town, was a nonde
script pub, Order’s Up, that most passed without a second glance. Amidst the smoke and clamor of the patrons, there was more magic and wonder than most would ever witness.
In the corner of Order’s Up, three beautiful young girls in short-shorts and button-ups tied to show their toned torsos were racking a new game of pool. The other patrons of the bar, who were just as eye dropping as the girls, in ways of their own, averted their eyes from them. They were accustomed to the presence of the trio of succubi, gorgeous seductresses who lure people into their beds to never be seen again.
In truth, most of the people in the small locale weren’t actually people at all. Save for one man, sitting at the bar in his regular seat, eyes downcast and a tight scowl on his scarred face, no one in the pub was human. From his weatherworn appearance and frequency in the bar, most of the denizens chalked him up as a local drunk, perpetually stopping through for his next fix.
They were only half-right.
The man, Ethan Jacobs, caught the scarlet eyes of the bartender and nodded his head. He felt his heart pick up like it always did right before. The onyx-toned bartender brought the man’s standing drink order over and placed it in front of him with a slight nod of his head.
Ethan wanted to grab the chilled double shot of whiskey and down it right then and there, but instead he grabbed the folded napkin that it lay on top of—work always came first.
He was a drunk; that much was inarguable. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have his reasons. In his 40-odd years he’d seen things that no man should have to witness and had done far worse. The alcohol numbed his body to the scars that covered it and gave his brain some time away from the demons that plagued him each night.
He was still, despite his perpetual search for the bottom of a bottle, one of mankind’s most important and secret protectors against the supernatural. He was an agent of The Order, a secret government organization that specialized in tracking and apprehending supernatural criminals.
Within the creases of the napkin was a small index card that Ethan knew would hold the name and known details of his and his partner’s next target.
His face fell as his eyes glanced over the singular letter printed on the card. As he continued, reading the location where the culprit would strike, he knew he would have his work cut out for him on this mission. And if he didn’t manage to succeed, the number at the bottom stared back at him, a burning reminder of how many lives hung in the balance, depending on him.
E.
Los Angeles. McHenry Amphitheater. 9:30.
4,908 souls.
Though the poignant title may be all that the higher-ups in The Order knew of the target, Ethan instantly was reminded of the last time he faced off against the criminal decades ago.
The encounter ended with the death of the man and mentor who was his partner at the time of E’s apprehension. He had no idea who had allowed him to get back out into the world but there would be hell to pay. He had to take a drink just thinking about all the carnage and subterfuge that E could get into if he were allowed to run rampant and unchecked.
And when his mind conjured the thought of his new partner possibly befalling the same fate of his last, he decided to say to hell with his rule of work before intoxication.
“Hey, Xeno, let me get another. Keep ‘em coming.”
And with that, began a stream of drinks that left Ethan inebriated and finally numb to the scarring memories threatening to climb his mental vaults. He didn’t realize how much time had passed or how drunk he was until he glanced at his watch.
For a second, as the hands of his timepiece glided swiftly around the shimmering golden face, he thought that his eyes might be playing tricks on him. Then, he chuckled as he remembered the natural confounding effect that magical places had on mortal objects.
“Well,” he said, with a groan as he stood up, “that’s my cue to get out of here.” The thought of time had reminded him of his responsibility to his partner and as he staggered out the pub quickly, his eyes surprised to see that hours had passed; he hoped that Ella was okay.
***
Ella Friar wasn’t amongst the land of the living anymore. Her body lay face-up, floating in a cheap motel’s tub holding the hand of a strange woman’s corpse. Her consciousness was a world away; in a space she called The After.
Ella was a powerful medium even at the young age of 23. With uncanny intuition and the gift of premonitions, she’d quickly set herself apart from other Junior Agents of The Order.
Her most unique and notable ability, her gift of traveling to and from the plane of the dead and communicating with lost souls, had gained her a partnership with one of The Order’s most storied agents—Ethan Jacobs.
She was disoriented and reeling from her journey as she first touched down. The coldness of the place hit her first—she’d never get used to it. After catching her bearings, she began to walk, drifting aimlessly until she happened upon the woman she was looking for.
As she continued along the dark night road, a starless void of a sky overhead, the silence of it all fell upon her. Her thoughts began to turn on her, conjuring images of doctors and military officers, mistakes from her past, and most of all, Ethan.
While most partnerships between Agents, the human components of the team, and their supernatural counterparts, Junior Agents, in The Order were shaky at best; theirs was quite different from the norm. Ella was outfitted with the same standard-issue biological controlling nanotech embedded at the base of her spine, and Ethan, like every other Agent, held the power to subdue, paralyze, or do worse to her if the need arose. The first thing that made their relationship different from every other partnership in The Order was that Ethan would never use it.
She shut her eyes and screamed, the sound deafening in the mute world.
She had journeyed to The After, a post-life realm of wandering souls and unfinished business, more times than she could count. Even with her frequent trips, though, she was still a visitor in a strange land, and there were things about this world, that though she didn’t understand, she knew not to question.
One of them was to never think of the living in the realm of the dead. She’d learned that the hard way.
When her yell was done echoing, her mind was clear and she was back to focusing on finding the woman. The noise, it seemed, had attracted the locals. She began to see lights approaching in the distance, dim and tinged violet, letting her know that someone was coming her way, though she couldn’t hear them.
She kept walking, her head down and her hands in her pocket as the silent car passed her, slowing down for only a moment.
“Hello?” A voice called from the other side of the road. The woman had not been there before the car passed and Ella knew before her eyes even fell on the woman that it would be her.
“Hi. I’m Ella,” she introduced herself as she sized the woman up. She’d only been dead for a day or two but she’d already begun to fade. “I’m here to help.”
“Thank you so much!” The woman sobbed aloud, hugging Ella, who could feel the woman’s essence dissipating in her hold. “Where the hell am I?”
“What’s your name?”
“Mary Ann,” she answered through tears. “Mary Ann Withers.”
Ella rubbed her back, trying as much as she could to calm her down for what came next.
“You’re dead Mary Ann. But it’s okay. I’m here to find out who killed you.
***
It was the second day that the maid had passed the door and smelled the pungent, boiled-egg smell seeping from the second floor of the cheap motel where she worked.
Yesterday, she’d followed her keen sense of smell until she’d pinpointed the exact door that the sickly smell was emanating from. Room 240. Standing in front of it, even with cotton balls stuffed in her nose, she could hardly keep her lunch down.
As badly as she wanted to barge into the room, bleach, air freshener, and dishrag at the ready, the “do not disturb” sign hung on the doorknob, w
arning her that she wouldn’t be able to cross the line, no matter how badly the smell was taunting her.
Today, as Jimena made her rounds, Room 240 was in the back of her mind the whole time. She cleaned the first floors of the rooms absent-mindedly, her tenure as the maid of the quaint little motel equipped her with more than enough experience to tackle the small messes of the first floors easily.
Once she got to the second floor, Jimena was pleased to see that fortune had smiled on her. Room 240 didn’t have the sign on, and she could get in there and rid her hotel of the ghastly smell.
When she turned the doorknob and stepped into the dark room, she realized just how wrong she’d been. The smell, unfiltered and with nothing holding it back, hit her first. Wave after wave of the same stomach-churning scent bombarded her senses. It was radiating from the dozen or so small flickering candles stationed in a beautiful swirling pattern that spanned throughout the room.
Despite the smell that had begun burning her eyes, she saw, as her vision adjusted to the dim lighting, that the room was practically spotless, almost unlived in. The bed was made and the floor devoid of clothing or trash. From the smell, she’d expected them to be slobs. But she was beginning to realize, they were a different kind of beast entirely.
Jimena walked through the room gingerly stepping over candles that were placed in random formations and still giving off the noxious odor. She knocked twice on the bathroom door and received no answer. When she found that the door was locked, she began to panic, remembering how Agatha had found that couple in bed together, their wrists, slashed, just a month back. It was Thursday and the last thing she wanted to start her weekend off with was a grisly suicide.
But, if she didn’t get to the bottom of this, surely she’d get blamed for being inattentive to the happenings in each room. So, she dug in her pocket for her master key and opened the door. From where she stood, behind the threshold of the door, she could immediately see the figure, floating face-up in the tub, the immobile body illuminated by the multitude of candles.