by T. A. Kunz
The room beyond is dark, except for the area around Tara’s desk, which is illuminated by the pink fuzzy lamp that sits on the corner of it. From what I can tell, the room is empty. I step inside with Tara right behind me and scan our surroundings to make sure nothing seems out of the ordinary. Everything looks to be in place, and nothing seems to be missing.
“Huh, maybe I did forget to lock up,” Tara mentions casually over my shoulder.
“You think? And you left your light on too.” I relax a bit and lower my guard.
Suddenly the bathroom door swings open and both of us let out high-pitched gasps. I throw up my hands in an attack-ready stance and I feel Tara hide behind me when I turn to face the door.
There’s the Tara I used to know, I muse to myself.
My guard relaxes again when I see Michele, our next-door neighbor, framed in the doorway. She was one of the lucky ones who scored a single room, but still has to share her bathroom with us. Michele stands there with her arms crossed, tapping her foot. She glares at us from under her long brunette bangs, but there’s a hint of humor present in her eyes.
“You locked me out of the bathroom again.” Her lips scrunch together into a sneer. “Thankfully, you guys are terrible at locking your room, so I came through and unlocked it from your end.”
My eyes pin Tara, who’s standing there looking as innocent as a cat who just ate the family bird. She does what she does best and shrugs before uttering, “Sorry.”
“It’s cool. Just don’t make a habit of it, okay?” Michele says, and shuts the bathroom door.
“Good one, Tara,” I murmur.
“Hey, I may have forgotten to lock our door, but you were the last one in the bathroom,” she scoffs while closing our bedroom door and flipping on the lights, bathing the room in a soft golden glow.
“Details, details,” I comment.
A sneer grows on her face. “Mmmhmmm.”
I slide open our closet and go right for my comfy nighttime shirts. Slipping out of the skirt, I toss it onto my desk chair since it’s right next to the closet.
Tara snatches the garment from the back of the chair and holds it up in front of her. “Goodbye, my dear old friend that I only wore twice but loved every minute of,” she reminisces before tossing the skirt into our shared trash can by the door.
I roll my eyes and laugh under my breath at the ridiculousness of it all. Removing my blouse, I ball it up, fling it into the open laundry bin at the foot of my bed, and swish it. Still got my aim. I start flipping through the shirts before landing on my favorite one. A long, dark purple shirt that hits me right at the knees with the saying “I prefer my book heroines to kick ass.” Pulling it from the hanger, I begin to slide it on.
“Hold the phone,” Tara pipes up from behind me. She moves closer and hovers right near my shoulder. “Why isn’t your tattoo fully colored in? Did you and Heath have your first lover’s quarrel? Is that why you came back to the car so quickly?”
“Really, Tara?” I turn around to send her a playful glare. “You’re still going on about that?”
“What? I think you two would make beautiful mocha latte babies together.” Her smile is infectious, and one tries to spring up on my face.
“You’re seriously ridiculous. It’s not like that in the slightest.” I yank on the shirt and storm over to my bed before plopping down onto the edge of it.
“I’m sorry, but I just call ’em like I see ’em,” she says.
“Well, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop calling them, okay?”
“All right, have it your way. But I feel it in my guts that I’m right,” she comments. “You’ll see.”
“Uh-huh,” I reply before flopping back against my not-so-plush college-approved twin mattress.
“Oh, evil little tangent. Why isn’t your tattoo colored in?” she inquires with a pointed stare.
“I decided not to go through with it.”
“Any particular reason?” she pries.
I groan, knowing she won’t stop her endless quest to find out the truth unless I answer her. “Heath mentioned that Angelica’s the daughter of a High Priestess light witch. And now my brother could be in big trouble, so I need to have a little chat with him to figure out what he wanted with her. Which is why I didn’t get the touch-up on the spell.”
“What? For real? Then what are you doing getting ready for bed? Shouldn’t we be going after Malcolm?” she asks, springing to her feet and apparently ready to head out. “This is his life we’re talking about here.”
“You may not need sleep, but I still do. Besides, I wouldn’t know where to look for him even if I wanted to,” I reply somberly, knowing Tara has a point. I know damn well I won’t be getting any sleep tonight with this looming over my head.
Tara’s eyebrows both raise and her eyes narrow on me. “That’s a bunch of B.S., Livie. You know exactly where to find your brother, but you don’t want to go there.” She crosses her arms over her chest with a smug look on her face.
She’s right … again. There’s a ninety-nine point five percent chance my brother’s at a little dive bar called The Reaping. It’s in the seedy part of town past the Dark Ink parlor. The place gets even seedier right around this time of night; hence, why my brother should be there. He tends to keep an eye on the place since it’s where a lot of reformed paranormals hang out. He likes to check in on them and make sure they haven’t fallen off the wagon and aren’t up to their old tricks again.
“You know, I really hate you sometimes.” I toss one of the pillows from behind my head at her.
She catches it and throws it right back. “Only when I’m right, and I’m cool with that,” she replies with a smirk.
“Okay, you win, I’ll go find my brother,” I groan, rolling out of bed.
Tara heads over to the closet and draws out a few items before flinging them over to me. After pulling on a formfitting pair of jeans and a black blouse with a bedazzled skull on it, I search around for my favorite steel-toe boots. They’re a little “butch,” as Tara calls them, but they get the job done. I find my little curb stompers and put them on before grabbing the black leather jacket hanging on the peg by the door.
“Time for a family reunion,” Tara states while holding the door open for me to head out first.
“I kind of need you to stay here, okay?”
“No way—”
“Listen, Tara. I need to do this alone. Besides, you can’t risk someone you know seeing you and blowing your masking spell like I did tonight. Everyone you used to know thinks you’re dead, which is for the best, trust me. Plus, I can watch my own ass in this place, but with you there, it won’t be as easy. It’s not safe and you know that. It’ll be better for both of us if you stay here,” I explain. “I’m sorry, but I have to go solo on this one.”
“Got it. I’m a distraction,” she replies with a frustrated sigh.
“It’s not like that.”
“No, I understand, really. I’ll just wait here and stare at the ceiling or something.” She attempts to laugh, but it doesn’t sound genuine.
“I’ll be back soon. And remember to lock the door behind me, okay?”
“Sure thing, boss,” she replies, and ushers me out of the room. “Be careful.”
“Always am.”
“Famous last words,” she comments as I begin to move down the hall.
Oh, The Reaping, how I loathe you. Let me count the ways.
Standing in front of the bar now, I can look past its shoddy construction, the many flyers tacked to the door advertising the strip joint down the block, and even the fact that it was once a slaughterhouse owned by a group of vampires. The only thing I can’t look past is that inside lies the potential of running into the one person I’m actually here to find.
The moment I reach for the handle, the door flies open, causing me to quickly sidestep out of the way. A guy stumbles out with another one following close behind. I recognize the second man as Doug, the owner of the bar, but the first
guy flew by too quickly for me to get a good look.
“I told you you’re cut off,” Doug reprimands
The guy throws up one arm to wave Doug off before muttering, “Whatever.”
“Damn drunks,” Doug grumbles. “The bane and lifeblood of my business.”
“Rough night?” I ask, placing my hands on my hips.
“Olivia? What are you doing here?”
“Oh, you know me. I can’t get enough of alcohol-induced shenanigans.”
He chuckles to himself. “I was under the impression you left our quaint town of Piedmont Pointe months ago.”
“Now where did you get an idea like that?”
“Your brother,” he replies matter-of-factly. “So, what brings you out to my neck of the woods?”
“Actually, my brother. Have you seen him?”
“Yeah, he’s inside. Follow me.”
I cross over the threshold while Doug holds the door open. I’m instantly bombarded by the smell of alcohol, cigarettes, and some other stench I can’t quite put my finger on. The smells are quickly followed by a jolt to my stomach, meaning witches are here.
The bar looks to be close to capacity. As I survey the area, I recognize a few of the patrons as not-so-human, even though their current appearances would suggest otherwise. The Reaping’s one of the few places that maintains a good ratio of paranormals to mortals, though every human, with the exception of Doug, is completely unaware of what surrounds them. Very few townies are aware that Piedmont Pointe is a hotbed for paranormal activity.
Doug has a way of keeping the peace in his bar, and doesn’t allow for any kind of drama to be brought in—paranormal or not. He always makes them take it outside. It probably helps that he has a stash of every weapon under the sun—that can kill any and everything—behind the bar under lock and key, and he’s not afraid to go there. He’s garnered respect from both sides for not putting up with anybody’s shit and treating everyone as equal … as long as they buy a drink, that is. It’s clearly a sound business practice.
“He’s in his usual spot, over there,” Doug shouts, pointing to the large circular booth in the back left corner of the bar.
From where I’m standing, I can tell the booth is full of people. I can’t quite make out my brother though, so I decide to move closer. It dawns on me that I haven’t thought about what I’m going to say to him. I’ve been so preoccupied with worrying about how our interaction was going to be instead of thinking about what I was going to actually say.
As I close in on the booth, the entire group of people sitting there comes into complete focus. I recognize each and every one of them. They’re all friends of my brother’s, and once mine as well. Until I defected.
There are six Hunters including my brother. Two of them are Witch Hunters, but the other three are different. Witch Hunters aren’t the only types out there. There are ones assigned to every paranormal race, and together they form a supernatural task force of sorts. We’re all born into it, and each of us is supposed to carry out our duties until the day we die, or in my case, the day I decided to turn my back on everything I’ve ever been taught.
My brother locks eyes with me and his face goes from laughing at something that was just said at the table to serious with a hint of surprise in two seconds flat. His reaction is odd because he looks like this is the first time he’s seen me since I left.
Malcolm rises from his seat and supports himself with his palms pressed firmly against the table. He doesn’t say a word. He just stares at me with a steady glare, and when everyone else in the booth notices what he’s staring at, they do the same thing. All accept one: Topher.
Wow, I feel welcome.
I notice Topher, my brother’s boyfriend, send me a reserved smile before placing his hand on Malcolm’s. He says something to Malcolm that causes him to relax a bit. I’ve always liked Topher. He has such a calming effect on my brother. Besides my direct family, he’s next on the list of people I miss the most from my previous life.
“Hey, traitor,” Sasha says with a scoff and a flip of her long, curly black hair. She’s a big shot, self-absorbed Vampire Hunter. Actually, for some reason, most Vampire Hunters I know are full of themselves. They believe vampires are the most dangerous of all paranormals, and feel they risk their lives more than any other Hunter trying to keep the vampires in line.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face around here, Olivia.” Malcolm finally says.
“Believe me, this is the very last place I want to be right now, but some things are more important than what we want in life,” I fire back. “Listen, I need to talk to you, okay?”
He gestures to the table. “The floor is yours.”
“Alone, please?”
“Look, whatever you want to say, you can say in front of everyone.”
“Fine. The hit you were ordered to—”
“Outside, now,” he demands, cutting me off. I knew bringing up the hit right away would get him to take me aside for some one-on-one time. Hunters aren’t supposed to discuss the details of the hits they’re assigned by the Elders. Day-to-day interactions are fine, but assigned hits are meant to be kept confidential.
“Fine by me,” I say with some snark as I follow him toward the back door of the bar that leads out to the alleyway.
The moment I step outside, Malcolm slams the door closed behind us. He passes by me and flashes a quick glare before checking if the coast is clear by peering up and down the alley.
“What in the hell were you thinking bringing up hits like that out in public?”
“Hey, I’m not a Hunter anymore, so I don’t have to follow your silly rules, okay?” I spit out, matching his forceful tone with my own.
He fumes right in front of my face, and then releases a deep groan. “This is so typical of you, Olivia. Always the rebel. Always the nonconformist. Just say what you’ve got to say so I can get back to enjoying my evening.”
My brother and I were so close when we used to train together. With just one decision on my part, that all changed. It doesn’t help that the one decision was to turn my back on everything my family believes in.
“I think you might be in danger,” I blurt out. “Why did you attack a High Priestess’s daughter tonight? Who ordered that?”
“A who? What the hell are you going on about?” he asks, sounding confused.
“Your hit tonight—”
“Was on a witch who was kidnapping children from a local neighborhood. Yeah, I know. Hansel and Gretel, stereotypical,” he states, finishing my sentence.
“Wait … you didn’t crash the Alpha Nu Gamma sorority party tonight? Don’t try to deny it. I saw you there.”
“Uh, no. I’ve been here most of the night. This is the first time I’ve seen you since you abandoned us.”
“But I saw you … we talked … you knew who I was,” I explain, trying to make sense of this in my mind.
“Don’t know what to tell ya. Wasn’t me,” he replies with a shrug. “Are we finished here?”
“No, we’re not. Someone posed as you at a party tonight and tried to assassinate a pretty powerful witch. The person looked and sounded just like you. He or she was even able to control three Maulers at once. Doesn’t that concern you a little?” I ask, blocking his way when he tries to move around me.
“Do you realize how this sounds? Have you said it out loud to yourself? You sound ridiculous.”
“I know what I saw, Malcolm,” I huff, poking him in the chest with my index finger. “And it seriously worries me that you’re not more concerned about this.”
“It’s been real, sis, but I have to get back to my boyfriend and friends. Next time you want to chat, come to me with a more convincing reason, and not just a poor attempt for attention.” He pats me on the shoulder before moving past me to the door. “Oh, and don’t pull this kind of stunt on Mom and Dad, please. They’ve been through enough with you lately.”
That last comment digs into me like a knife. But I knew
what I was getting myself into when I chose the way I did. I still don’t regret leaving.
“Ouch. That was abrasive.” A familiar male’s voice comes from down the alleyway after my brother shuts the door in my face.
I turn to my right and see the outline of a person standing outside the circle of light beaming over me from the fixture situated over the back door. He takes a few steps forward and I’m met with the gorgeously stubble-filled face of Heath. I’m surprised to see him hanging out around here. He used to refer to this place as a cesspool of epic proportions.
“And what are you doing here? I thought you hated this place,” I ask, crossing my arms in front of my chest.
“I couldn’t resist the weekly meeting of the witch minds,” he jokes. I turn my eyebrow up and send him a look of disbelief. “Okay, you got me. Doug has a better beer selection now.”
“Ah, I see. That’s more like it.”
“Hey, you gonna be okay?” His light blue eyes are suddenly sympathetic.
I release a heavy sigh. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I need to get used to this treatment. I feel this is only the beginning.”
“You shouldn’t have gone through that.” Even after how I treated him at the parlor, he still manages to say something nice to me. “Want a drink? I think you could use one.”
“No, thanks. I’m good. I have an early class in the morning. I should probably head back.”
“Suit yourself.” I hear a hint of disappointment in his voice.
“Heath?” I ask just before he’s about to open the back door.
“Yeah?”
“You heard everything just now, right?”
He nods. “Pretty much.”
“Even though my brother basically dismissed me, I can’t help but be worried about him. I think someone or something that looked exactly like him was at the party tonight. I’m not going crazy. I know what I saw.”
“I believe you, Liv,” he says simply.
“You do?”
“Of course. Why in the hell would you make up something like that?”