by Gina Whitney
Michelle stood on her porch and searched her junky purse for her elusive house keys. The bag was an ever-changing hodgepodge of receipts, lipsticks, broken cell phones, and that-time-of-the month essentials. Heaving heavy sighs, Michelle was unaware that Mrs. Delores Davenport had been watching her from the sidewalk. A power-walking retiree and recent widow, Mrs. Davenport seized whatever opportunities she could to hobnob with her outlying neighbors. She lived three streets over and always managed to catch Michelle in a frantic rush to work.
“Hello, Michelle. Nice weather we’re having,” said Mrs. Davenport as she marched in place.
Michelle sighed even heavier; she had no time for Mrs. Davenport right now. “Sure was. Going to work now,” she said dismissingly.
Mrs. Davenport put two fingers to her neck, making sure to maintain her target heart rate. “Did you hear about all those missing people?”
“No.” Michelle dropped her purse and spilled its endless contents. She partly blamed Mrs. Davenport for ruining her concentration.
“Yes, for the past few weeks, people from here to New York have been disappearing.”
Michelle found her keys. “Hot damn!”
“Damn is right. We must be careful. Especially you out here on this street all alone.”
Michelle locked her front door and hopped into her Hyundai. She backed up, flooring the accelerator, without looking in the rearview mirror—and nearly ran over Mrs. Davenport.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Michelle said, but thought, Not really.
“That’s okay. You did hear me, though?”
Michelle’s car was already on the street, ready to go. “Uh… say it again.”
“Be careful.”
“Sure.” Michelle peeled out.
“Such a sweet girl,” Mrs. Davenport said to herself. Just as she turned to power walk back home, she thought she heard a noise coming from the empty house. She listened more closely. Now all she heard was an airplane passing overhead.
“You must be getting old, Mrs. Davenport.” As she passed the empty house, she too noticed the smell of rotten meat, but ignored it like Michelle had.
If anyone had taken the time to investigate, the putrid odor would have led them straight to the empty house. The back sliding-glass door had been broken into a few weeks earlier. Low noises always seeped out at about three a.m., but, because of Michelle’s night shift and the desolation of the street, there was no one around to hear them.
The house’s below-ground bonus room was the home of ten sleeping protégés. Newly formed, they were resting in somewhat of an embryonic state. The protégés had been well fed. All around them were the rotting carcasses of the missing people Mrs. Davenport had talked about.
Their mother, Catherine, was wide awake. She had been covertly peering out of the bonus-room window at Mrs. Davenport and Michelle, whose absentminded tiredness had been a blessing to Catherine. A more observant neighbor would have noticed the almost too obvious signs that someone had taken up residency in the abandoned house.
Catherine had seen Michelle and Mrs. Davenport numerous times since she had broken in. And each time she had thought about eating them, especially that irritating Mrs. Davenport. She opted not to; they were too close to home. Catherine couldn’t afford to draw the scrutiny of law enforcement to the enclave.
After Michelle and Mrs. Davenport left, Catherine swiped her hand and created an orb of light that rose to the ceiling. It illuminated the maze of baby protégés. Like a nanny watching over her sleeping charges, Catherine strolled the rows between them. It had been a time-consuming task to change each one individually in ritual. She relished the time when she would be able to confiscate Grace’s powers. Then she’d be able to create protégés at her whim.
As Catherine passed each one, she recollected how she had acquired them. One she had abducted after he’d robbed a convenience store. She’d kidnapped the sadistic school principal with a penchant for paddling after he’d brutally disciplined a young girl. Another one Catherine had taken after he’d smothered his cancer-stricken wife for a $500,000 life-insurance policy.
However, Catherine’s favorite was Tamara. Catherine saw so much of herself in her. Tamara was the featured act at a sleazy strip club. Abused as a child, she had turned into a sociopathic killer after a lifetime of suppressing anything remotely resembling love. Her victims of choice were muscular and dark-haired males—just like her daddy. She was highly transient, and her hunting grounds were the clubs where she worked. One night a customer wanted some after-hours activity. However, instead of giving him a quick screw in the bed of his pickup truck, Tamara shot him in the eye. Catherine captured her right after.
As Catherine reveled in her children, she felt an itch inside her ear. Not really paying attention, she reflexively rubbed it. However, she took notice when the itch grew more intense and spread over her body. Red patches appeared on her skin as if she had run through a poison-ivy field. She looked straight ahead through the darkness and saw a blob of static electricity coming toward her. As it got closer, it took the shape of Adrian’s body. His spell finally had reached her.
Adrian’s specter form pointed to a black wall where a montage of images began to play. The pictures were of Aunt Evelyn’s house, Chief Weylen, and a bonfire. The final image was of Catherine standing in a vortex of energy, with Grace— near death—at her feet.
Meanwhile, upstairs, a lone candle lit up the kitchen nook. Chetan sat in its corner, keeping his eye on Nick, who had come out of his stupor and was now cognizant. Chetan had become increasingly afraid of him. The protégé’s hunger was growing at an alarming rate, even for Catherine’s taste.
Nick licked his lips and looked at Chetan like he was a steak. “I’m hungry.”
“Why are you looking at me?” Chetan responded, shrinking in his chair like an ogled woman.
Nick wasn’t Chetan’s only concern. Catherine had been acting strangely as of late. It was noticeable that she was distancing herself from Chetan. He could tell she was scheming something when she looked at him.
Chetan picked up the candle and excused himself to get away from Nick. As he hurried out of the kitchen, he looked back to make sure Nick wasn’t following him. All he saw was the protégé’s black silhouette against the window, watching him back. Chetan jittered and scurried out. He crossed into the living room and quickly shut the door, then fell back on it, thrilled to be alone in relative safety.
“Whew! That crazy motherfucker,” he said. He lifted himself off the door and waved the candle around. That was when he saw Catherine standing right in front of him.
“Where did you come from?” he asked.
Catherine had no time for small talk. “It’s time. I know where Grace is.”
Chetan could tell Catherine was chillingly wound up. “Okay, let’s go then,” he said, trying to sound ambivalent.
Catherine studied him for a bit. She then opened the door with wave of her hand. “Nick, could you come here, dear?” She addressed Chetan again. “You’ve done your job well. But it’s time now for you to complete it.”
Nick came in and stood next to her.
“How? Do you want me to kill Grace for you?” Chetan asked. A sense of dread cascaded upon him.
“Oh, you fool, you know I have to do that. No, no… Come here,” Catherine said. With her bony finger, she beckoned to Chetan. She stroked his face and sweetly smiled. Chetan knew he was in trouble then. Catherine said to him, “You have to die.”
Suddenly, Nick grabbed Chetan and locked his arms behind him.
“Haven’t you wondered why I kept a witless hack like you around? Do you think it’s because you’re so awesome?” Catherine said.
“I thought it was because I was the only witch who’d go along with your plans,” Chetan prattled.
“Partly. See, you served a purpose. I needed to have a readily available energy source—like a backup generator, so to speak. A witch’s blood to consume. That blood would make me stronger when the time
came for me to confront Grace. That time is now, and that witch is you.”
Chetan tried to break free of Nick’s grip. “Catherine? I can’t believe you.”
She mocked him with a fake pout. “Why so surprised? You know I’m bad. What did you expect?” She slashed his throat with her long nail.
Chetan was very much alive as Catherine sucked his blood. Nick, still propping him up, found it nearly impossible to fight off his desire to devour him.
Catherine raised her face, and through bloody teeth and fangs spoke to Nick. “Here… Your first taste.”
Nick was like a wild animal as he chomped down on Chetan’s shoulder, taking out a chunk. Nick let the body drop to the floor and pounced on it, biting out large portions.
“Ah, ah, ah… We must share,” Catherine said, her body contorting as she transformed into her demonic appearance. She ripped out Chetan’s chest muscle and held it in her hand. It looked like a tender roast, marbled with fat. “Take him to the children,” she instructed.
Chetan’s life was fading fast as Nick hauled him by his ankles to the bonus room. Catherine followed, eating the delicious piece of muscle, savoring it like petit filet. Chetan’s head bounced up and down on the stairs as Nick dragged him.
On Catherine’s way down, she noticed a discarded, rusty, cast iron skillet hanging on a wall. She used the hammer hanging next to it to make an impromptu dinner bell, banging on it loudly to rouse the sleeping protégés. “Wake up, children. It’s dinnertime.”
“No! No! Catherine… Nick…” Chetan pleaded.
Nick tossed his body into the swarming horde below. They converged on it and finished eating him alive. As they did, their physical strength grew into superhuman power.
Catherine was delighted. “They are fed. Tomorrow night, Grace and I finally meet.”
James and I rode in the car alone on our way to the reservation. The others had decided it was best for them to ride separately in Aunt Evelyn’s minivan. They were so trying to avoid James’s bad vibe.
Ever since he had found out Adrian had attacked me, James had been my shadow—to the kitchen, the yard, the bedroom, everywhere. I drew the line when he wanted to sit in the bathroom while I took a shit. Though James was with me physically, his mind was elsewhere. He barely spoke and took in no food or drink. I could see he was devising a plan to find and destroy Adrian.
I did drink the sheep’s blood he brought home, but it did me no good. I was weak, and my stomach was churning with nausea. Everyone was telling me I needed to feed; however, I still refused to eat another human being. I figured willpower would get me through it. But it wasn’t working. I reasoned I had to give it more time.
Up ahead and above the forest, I could see smoke billowing from the bonfire. I’d never actually been on the reservation. The few times I had come into the area, it was only to go to Julie’s house, which was down the street. It still surprised me that no one in town had any idea werewolves lived there.
Our caravan pulled up to the reservation’s behemoth gate. An acne-faced young man acted as a guard of sorts—more of a welcoming committee. The gate was actually two large swinging doors made of white wooden panels. On them was painted the wolf insignia of Julie’s tribe. This entrance was not built to keep the world out. It was constructed in honor of tribal heritage and nature.
The young man radioed to someone up ahead and then waved us in with a friendly smile. The newly paved road was shaded by a canopy of aged oaks and elms. It led to the main area of the reservation, where there was a bustling general store, a small bank, and a gas station. We drove deeper into the residential area dotted with mobile, small ranch, and bungalow-style homes. I was able to catch the coded wolf sign that was strategically yet subtly placed on each building.
The residents were a joyful people, sitting on their front porches, enthusiastically engaging one another with lively chatter. They waved as the minivan carrying Julie and Hari drove past them. This was the first time I’d seen Julie put on a genuine smile since our fight.
As we drove by her old elementary school, I was reminded that I’d never really known her at all. She had a whole other life I was not privy to…and that life was good. These Native Americans were not the downtrodden victims I was so often told about. They were a proud, capable, and strong people. It was obvious where Julie had inherited her fortitude from.
We pulled up to a modest, two-story house. “Well, are you ready to meet the chief ?” I asked James.
“Yeah, sure,” he said. “As soon as we’re done, I can take care of some other business.”
I decided to give him his space—a little time to find his composure. I got out of the car.
Oops, forgot the knife, I thought, and went back to the car and got the blade Amari had given me. I slid it into my boot and made sure my jeans covered it. I almost hadn’t brought it, believing I’d be amongst friends. However, Aunt Evelyn had told me to get used to carrying it because “you never know.”
I joined the others, who were already out of the minivan. Aunt Evelyn looked at James, raising her brow. She was not happy that he was still in a funk, and went straight over to him. James huffed when he saw Aunt Evelyn coming his way. His mind was already preoccupied, and the last thing he wanted right then was a speech.
But, as usual, that didn’t deter Aunt Evelyn. “Take the scowl off your face. I know you’re upset over Adrian. However, you cannot let that impede our mission here. We need the chief ’s help and can’t give him any inkling that there is discord among us. Let’s not give him a reason to change his mind. Too much is depending on this.”
James put on a front and pretended to relax. “See? I’m smiling. I’m okay. I’m not going to mess any of this up. I promise.” But inside he was churning with too much animosity to simply wish it away. And he still didn’t fool Aunt Evelyn.
“There’s nothing we can do about you now. Get the gifts,” she said.
As we all gathered the peace offerings, James held my hand. “I love you. You can never know how much,” he said.
“I do know. I love you too.”
We followed the others up the winding walk lined with solar garden lights. Little children watched us, looking fascinated. But as soon as they sensed James’s angst, they scurried away in fear.
A wolf symbol hung like mistletoe over the front door.
“Here goes nothing,” Hari said right before he banged on the door with the huge, wolf-faced knocker.
After some time Chief Weylen opened the door. He was a large, jolly man with a full mane of grayish-white hair. With a wide smile and opened arms, he first welcomed Julie and Hari inside the house. “Oh, children, welcome home. We’ve missed you.”
The three of them huddled in a three-way hug. Then, in line with protocol, Julie and Hari took their places behind the chief. He turned his suspicious attention toward James and me.
“Well, I guess it’s safe for me to let you in,” said the chief. I could hear the acrimony in his voice, and that he had second thoughts about us being there. As we witches walked past him, he peeked outside and looked at the sky. It was a sunny day, but a dark cloud seemed to be hanging over the reservation. He took note. “Hmph.”
We only took a few steps into the house when the chief stopped us. “Wait,” he said, then went over to a table and lit up a tight wad of dried sage. He came back to us and performed a smudging, swiping the sage’s smoke all around our bodies.
Chief Weylen swiped over James more than anyone else. “You have many bad thoughts, young man,” the chief said to him. Aunt Evelyn gave James a disappointed look.
“I guess you’re all okay now,” Chief Weylen said. “Except you, young buck. But I’ll let you stay anyway,” he said to James.
The chief started toward the back of the house. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come on.” I could feel he was still being very cautious with us witches as he led us to his kitchen. He made special efforts not to touch us. If one of the witches got too close, he skirted us like
a running back going for a touchdown.
Hari saw my confusion. “He doesn’t want to be contaminated by evil,” he explained, half joking and half serious.
We all piled into the kitchen, which was the size of a sardine can. “We brought you some gifts,” Aunt Evelyn said to Chief Weylen, still trying to sway his favor in our direction. I saw the chief ’s shoulders relax as his heart softened—not because of the gifts, but because Aunt Evelyn was trying so hard to impress him.
“It has been a long time since we’ve interacted with our long-lost brethren,” he said. “Too long.”
Chief Weylen paid no mind to the gifts, but put a comforting arm around Aunt Evelyn’s shoulders.
I noticed that there was a large, skinned hare splayed on the newspaper-strewn table. “That morsel is for the bonfire tonight,” Chief Weylen said as if he could taste it already. We all took seats and watched him perform culinary alchemy. With the precision of Joël Robuchon, he chopped up the rabbit with a meat cleaver. He kind of reminded me of Leatherface the way he brought that big-ass knife down. He then threw the pieces into a stewpot of searing olive oil until they developed a golden-brown crust.
“Thank you for allowing us to come to your home. We appreciate your help,” Aunt Evelyn said. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the aroma of the rabbit.
Chief Weylen julienned carrots, onions, and celery. “Apparently I had no choice.” He started a roux. “It appears we are all in this together.”
The smell of the vegetables as they hit the roux was heavenly, even to my sickly stomach. I thought this surely must have been the ideal way to hash out world differences: over a pot of homemade stew.
The chief wiped the juices from the rabbit onto his apron, and addressed me. “I didn’t know what to think of you. But the spirits tell me you have a good heart… A heavy heart, but a good one nonetheless.”
A young girl, about six or seven, bounded in. “Julie!” she screamed. She leapt from clear across the kitchen, strong and high, into Julie’s arms. Even at such a young age, she was mastering her wolf powers.