by Lane Hart
Looking back, I'm pretty sure the only reason Vanessa married me was because she thought that, with my family's social status and genetics, I could give her the picture perfect WASP family. For whatever reason she wanted to have a bunch of spoiled blonde haired and blue eyed children to show off and brag about to her elitist bitch friends, while a nanny actually raised them. Which reminded me, I had another call to make.
Before I turned up the football game I grabbed the phone to go ahead and get the next pain in the ass conversation out of the way.
"Hell-ooo," answered the annoying singsong voice of my mother.
"Hi, Mom."
"Thomas. To what do I owe the pleasure? After all, it's not a holiday. Or is today one and I have simply forgotten in my old age?"
"Nope, not a holiday." But finding out I was getting away from these people for a few weeks was cause for some sort of celebration. God, I hated my life.
"Just calling to let you know I'm heading to North Carolina in the morning. I'll probably be gone a few weeks."
"Poor Vanessa. What is she going to do with herself?" she asked, sounding utterly horrified.
Yeah, poor Vanessa, being home alone with no job and only her social calendar to keep her busy. How will she survive? Not poor Tom, who's going on assignment and could get beat, shot or eaten. Who cares about that shit, or what I'd be doing, as long as it pays well.
"This is why you need to hurry up and give her a baby," she added. Like I hadn't seen that one coming.
"I'm sure you and everyone else at church will keep her calendar full while I'm gone."
I hated all those judgmental bitches. They were the worst group of women I'd ever met. Church to them was a social event that had nothing at all to do with religion.
"I still don't know why you had to become an investigator when you could have had a nice desk job at the agency."
Right. How dare I make any decisions in my own fucking life?
"Okay Mom, I better get back to the Christmas decorations," I told her, ready to end the torture.
I know the woman gave birth to me and somewhat raised me, but damn. What did I do before I was born to deserve a lifetime of her as my mother? I've never been good enough for her. Supposedly all parents love their children, but I was pretty sure she had never actually liked me. At least not that I remembered.
"You do that. Lord knows Vanessa needs your help and has to nag and nag and nag to get you to do anything around the house."
Maybe if the woman would try being nice instead of nagging I might help out more often.
"Bye, Mom."
"Bye, Thomas."
I turned up the volume on the football game then pulled the handle on my brown leather recliner to raise my feet. I'd finish the Christmas decorations right around the time I knocked Vanessa up - when hell froze over.
…
That night I couldn't sleep, and it had absolutely nothing at all to do with the fact that Vanessa refused to talk to me and was making me sleep in one of the guest bedrooms.
I’d packed my bags and was ready to leave town, but my mind couldn't stop racing, trying to predict what we were going to have to do in North Carolina. I hoped it wasn't a trip to bring someone in. I'd only been on two tag-along apprehensions during my six months of training, and neither had ended well.
The first one was to arrest a male vampire who'd raped and killed a woman. He flipped his shit at the mention of the agency, and of course fled his home, snapping an agent's neck before he got away.
The second occasion was a straight cluster-fuck from beginning to end. I'm not sure who gave the insane order to try and arrest a werewolf during a wedding. Yes, he'd killed two adults and a child, but everyone knew he would try and get away, endangering all of the guests. That was the day I learned the important lesson that werewolves can shift on demand, without the necessity of a full moon. We lost three agents, and two innocent bystanders before I was able to jam the silver cake knife into his neck.
I had been raised hardcore in the church to believe anyone who wasn't human was evil and an affront to God. That's why the Destroyers of Religious Abominations, or D.R.A., was created hundreds of years ago - to rid those God-fearing colonist of what they considered to be genetic trash hiding among them. Was the death of a supernatural being considered murder? Of course not, it was God's work, or so they believed. How I let myself get roped into working for an agency like them I still wasn't sure.
Well no, that's not completely true. Vanessa thought a federal job had to be better than the graveyard shift on the police force. Of course the fact that it paid twice as much was a nice bonus for her too. My reason was much simpler - I wanted to do detective work and wasn't going anywhere on a force the size of the one in Philly. I also wanted to travel before settling down. The fact that Vanessa hadn't expected my little hitch in her plans for my own life led me to pursue the investigator position ever more.
With only four hours of sleep I was up and ready to go at five a.m. Monday morning. I decided to head to the gym for a workout to blow off some steam and weeks of sexual frustration before heading to the office. When I stood beside the bed to tell Vanessa I was leaving, she rolled away from me and told me to turn off the bright ass bathroom light and leave her the hell alone. Yeah, I was really going to miss her too.
After doing my usual strength training routine and running three miles on the treadmill, I showered and suited up, then pulled in my assigned spot in the agency lot. I needed to pick up the case file, along with a few other things from my office I may also need - my briefcase, camera, and recorder, depending on the actual assignment.
Oh, and there it was, sitting like my very own Christmas present in the center of my immaculate desk. I flipped on my office light and then sat back in my big leather chair to dig in.
It was a witch case of all damn things. I'd never actually worked one before, since witches were probably the rarest of the remaining supernaturals. The only thing I knew about them was that they could be identified by their black blood, same as warlocks, and that their blood gave them the ability to do spells of some sort. Although it’d never actually been proven, witches were supposed to be a hell of a lot more powerful than warlocks.
This particular case stemmed from a two week old auto accident with a fatality. A forty-four-year-old white female, Laura Davis, was killed after a head on collision. Her driver’s license picture was included, and I couldn't help but notice that she’d been a very attractive woman, with auburn hair and blue eyes. Officers and EMS responded to the scene of her accident where they found her unresponsive, and what do you know, she'd suffered an enormous amount of blood loss, the blood being unusually dark in color. The cause of death was undetermined due to her extensive injuries. So why did the D.R.A. give a shit? Oh, that part was coming up.
Apparently a young man and woman were at the deceased's home address when they showed up to notify them of her death. The police suspect they may have been her children. And how about that, neither individual had been seen at the home since that night. So, that was where Winston and I came in. Any children resulting from the union involving a witch or a warlock would automatically be born a witch if female and a warlock if male. The D.R.A couldn't have any known witches or warlocks on the loose, even ones who hadn't committed any crimes or done anything wrong.
Now on to our objective. I flipped the page and read through the orders - conduct undercover investigation and surveillance of the area, talk with neighbors and other individuals who may have known the witch to try and identify the young man and woman. If located, collect evidence of suspects current location, appearance, etc. then call in the cleanup crew, at which time we'd assist with the apprehension of the suspects. After their capture, if they tested positive as a supernatural, they'd be sent off for execution.
This was about as far as I could get from the type of detective work I'd had in mind when I applied to work here. I wanted to take down the supernatural beings that were committing crimes or k
illing people, not help the D.R.A. execute innocent civilians. As far as I was concerned, they shouldn’t be considered threats until there was actual proof they planned to, or had already done, something illegal.
Well Jane and John Doe, I hope you're long gone by now, but here goes nothing.
Chapter Two
Elizabeth Maddox
Greensboro, North Carolina
It was a cold and dreary Monday morning, and I was already awake when my radio alarm went off. I didn't have the motivation or energy to drag myself out of bed. The last two weeks had been torturous, ever since all the happiness and comfort in my life had been unexpectedly ripped from me.
My first birthday and Thanksgiving without my mother had almost killed me. After doing everything to make the last twenty years as special as possible for us, she was out shopping the night before our twenty-first birthdays and never made it home.
Jason and I knew the day of our births had been anything but joyous. It was the day our father found out our secret and up and left the three of us, never to be heard from again. Despite how tough it must have been for our mother, she was never anything but warm and happy, with a smile on her face that made us feel determined that we could get through anything together.
We’d also had twenty Thanksgiving mornings where she'd be in the kitchen by sunrise, cooking the full homemade spread, even though it was just the three of us that sat down together at lunch. She went through all the trouble because it was her way of showing us she loved us, and was thankful for our small family.
This last Thanksgiving had been spent listening to Jason break every single serving dish in the house in anger while I cried in my room for his pain and my own. Oh God, I missed her so damn much.
I'd never forget the night the police showed up to our house, especially since I'd dreamed of it before it happened. Jason had freaked out when they knocked on our door, thinking they'd come to take us in after finding out our secret. I’d gotten a horrible sense of déjà vu at the time, knowing our mom was never that late getting home after work. I was the one who finally answered the door. Looking at the two officers standing in the darkness with their hats in their hands was all the explanation needed.
Before my mind could even figure out what was going on, Jason was throwing our things in boxes and suitcases, making me leave our house in the middle of the night. At that point I really hadn't cared if they found us. Our mother, my best friend, and the person I was closest to in the world was gone. We couldn't even have a funeral for fear of a D.R.A. raid. I never got a chance to see her one last time, or say goodbye to her. She was just gone, leaving an emptiness inside of me that would never be filled again.
My eyes watered, even though it had to be impossible for there to be any fluid left in my body after crying for the past two weeks. I had tried going to class and work like normal, keeping myself busy, but every single thing reminded me of her. I missed her so much it was a constant agony. Everyone at school and work was still avoiding me, so as to not set off another crying fit. Being left alone made things easier on me. I didn’t want to talk to anyone or hear any more condolences.
The downside was that I felt so lonely, and absolutely miserable without her. Now Jason was all the family I had left. I knew he was hurting too, but he was just better at keeping everything bottled up.
I told myself that living without her had to get easier, then felt bad for wishing and wanting to be happier. I knew she wouldn't want me to be sad and depressed the rest of my life, though.
Rubbing a hand across the wetness on my face I finally forced myself out of bed. I went through my normal morning routine, and before I knew it I was sitting in a room full of people on campus.
What class was I in again? Oh yeah, I was pretty sure this was psychology and today was our final exam. My grades earlier in the semester were good enough that I would still pass even if I guessed at all the answers. However, once the exam started the lessons from the past fifteen weeks came flooding back through my mind. Thirty minutes later I handed in my completed exam, feeling pretty good about it, then walked out the classroom door.
Once outside I sat down on the first bench I came to. My body felt too damn exhausted to make it all the way back to my car without resting a few minutes first. While I sat there I tried to remember when I had last eaten. Last night? Nope, yesterday morning maybe? I could tell my jeans were looser than normal, and the curves of my body were more concaved. Sleep would probably be a good thing for my body to have too. I'd only slept two or three hours sporadically each night, which made the days feel hazy and surreal.
I heaved myself and my bookbag up from the bench, and made the rest of the trek back to my car. Old Betsy, as I called her, was my 1984 black Camaro, and she was on her last leg. I really hoped she'd make it two more years until I graduated from Madison. If she broke down again I'd have to depend on Jason to fix her. If he couldn't do it, I was going to be so screwed.
Sitting down in the driver seat, I realized that the inside of my car was freezing cold. I cranked up the heat, and rubbed my hands over my arms to warm up. It took me a second to realize why I was freezing. I hadn't worn a jacket today. It was December, with temperatures in the thirties, and my dumb ass forgot a coat.
I pulled my daily planner from my bookbag to double check my work schedule for this afternoon. At least I wrote all that down so I wouldn't forget. Sort of hard to forget the things that allowed you to pay the bills. Oh good, I had five hours before I needed to clock in at the grocery store. Maybe I should try and get a few hours of sleep before then. Then, bright and early tomorrow morning it was back to the restaurant.
When I got home Jason was awake and in the kitchen. Seeing him rattle through the kitchen cabinets without breaking things was so odd I had to stop and stare. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him even try to boil water.
“What are you up to?” I asked, making him jump.
“What are you doing home so early? Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” he asked, with his back to me.
“No more classes, just exams. I’ve got one Wednesday and Friday morning, then two more next week and I’m finished.”
“That’s awesome, sis.”
“What are you doing?” I asked again.
“Nothing,” he said, but he slipped something into his jean pocket.
“Jason, you’re making spells aren’t you? A green one, red one and a blue one?” I’d seen that much in a dream, along with our mother’s small pocketsize notebook he’d been carrying around. The memory had come back to me as soon as I'd seen him, along with the stomach twisting vertigo that accompanied my visions.
“How the fuck did you know that?” he demanded, finally turning around to glare at me. His auburn hair was the same color as mine. It had grown out and was shaggy, weeks past needing a cut. He obviously hadn’t shaved in days, or slept much lately based on the bags under his eyes. He looked like shit, and his expression said he was up to no good.
“So you are? You know what mom told us, and how easy it’d be to out us if you were caught with those!”
“I just want to be prepared. It seems like a waste to be able to do damn near anything, and not even try.”
“Mom didn’t want us doing spells. They’re too dangerous.”
“We’re not kids anymore Liz, and Mom’s gone. If she hadn’t been so scared of them she’d still be alive.”
“What does that mean?”
He hung his head and gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles whitening from the pressure. “There’s a spell in here…that can … make you almost immortal. She didn’t have to die. We never have to die.”
“Really?” I asked, but I had a bad feeling. “What’s the catch? Lose your soul? Become a vampire and have to drink blood?”
“No, it’s… it doesn’t matter now, anyway,” he said sadly.
“You’re not going to use it are you?” I asked.
“To be twenty-one forever would be pretty cool … but no, I’m not
going to use it.”
“Good. Then which spells are you making?”
“Just defensive ones, in case they come after us. If they find us, being outed will be the least of our problems.” ‘They’ being D.R.A. agents.
“If they do come, we can run. We don’t need any spells.”
"I'm not going to spend my entire life running. Besides, I’d rather be safe than sorry. Now, will you leave me alone so I can finish up and get to work?”
“Are you going to let me see the notebook sometime? What if I want to do a spell?”
“Hell no. You said it yourself, they’re dangerous. I don’t want you to end up getting hurt. I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I just … I miss her, you know?”
“I know. Look, just don’t blow yourself up Jason. You’re all I’ve got left.”
Chapter Three
Tom
It was a quarter to five on Monday afternoon when we pulled up in front of the Greensboro Police Department. We'd made good time on the highways, driving in separate cars in case the investigation needed us to go in two different directions. Which I hoped to hell it would. Our goal this afternoon was to talk to the lead officer so we could make a witness list. Then, we would split up and start talking to a few of them first thing in the morning. I was going to be thorough, since I sure as hell wasn’t in a big fucking hurry to get back to Pennsylvania.
When we walked up to the front window Winston demanded to see Detective Jones. Winston was a short, balding man, tall as he was wide, who thought yelling was the only way to get people to respect his dumpy ass. Usually, it just made them hate him even more.
Luckily the detective was still there, and available to meet with us on short notice. I knew from training that some of the town cops were hard to deal with. They didn’t like the D.R.A. coming in and taking over on their turf, and the agency also scared the shit out of most people. It was the only federal agency that had discretionary powers to execute based on the mere allegations of associating with supernaturals, or not reporting one to the agency. No evidence, judges, trials or juries required. It didn’t help that most agents were like Winston, complete raging assholes.