The Spark_What does death feel like?

by R. Mason

  “That’s convenient.” Amethyst pursed her lips, “But, for now, I’ll choose to believe you. Have a seat.” She gestured to the swing next to the one she was standing in front of, then sat down herself.

  “He’ll be here.” Dylan reinforced, then sat down too, staring at his hands when he clutched them in front of himself.

  “You’re nervous.” Amethyst commented.

  “Listening to my heartbeat?” Dylan teased, raising an eyebrow.

  “Reading your body language, actually,” Amethyst said, wrapping her hands around the chains either side of herself and using her legs to swing herself slightly, “Why are you nervous?”

  “I haven’t seen Harper in around two months.” Dylan shook his head, “I think he’s been avoiding me. Stupidly, I assumed a few deaths would’ve convinced him to come back.”

  “What?” Amethyst looked him up and down, “So this is an excuse for you to get your friend back? Real sensitive.”

  “It’s not an excuse, it’s just-”

  “Convenient.” Amethyst finished for him, thinking of Faye, and knowing she would’ve done the same.

  “I guess,” Dylan’s mouth twisted, “While we’re here, any questions I can answer?”

  “Your friend-” Amethyst took the sentence as the attempt to change the topic it was- “You said he was born a wolf?” Dylan nodded, “Does that change anything? Like, is he more powerful?”

  “No, I don’t think. It just means he finds control easier, and doesn’t have the same response to a ‘maker’ or ‘creator’ or whatever that made wolves do.”

  “Like I did,” Amethyst sighed, “With Kamini.”

  “Yeah,” Dylan straightened slightly, “What happened with that anyway?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it-” Amethyst gritted her teeth- “Definitely not with you.”

  “Okay.” Dylan glanced over to the gate again and took in a breath, “You can leave if you want. I don’t think he’s going to show.”

  “Do you guys not text?”

  “I do-” Dylan took his phone out of his blue raincoat pocket and flipped it in his hand- “He isn’t replying.”

  “What an ass hole.”

  “What?”

  “Well, he’s your friend, isn’t he?” Amethyst stopped and swung her leg over the seat, so she was facing Dylan, “You expect a certain standard from them. Like, I don’t know, replying to texts and being where they said they would be, when they said they would.”

  “It’s more complicated than that.” Dylan huffed a laugh and tilted his head back to blink at the sky. Amethyst frowned. The boy who seemed so cock sure and arrogant the day before was gone, and in his place, was an insecure mess that was completely dependent on what his friend thought. As much as Amethyst had initially disliked the guy, no one should feel that way about one of their only friendships.

  “No, it isn’t,” Amethyst said, and was about to continue when the gate swung open again.

  Through it walked one of the most gorgeous people Amethyst had ever seen.

  He had dark brown skin, flawless and unblemished as far as she could see. His head was closely buzzed, and he ran a hand over it subconsciously, probably because it was a new do. A smile graced his lips, which made his kind features look even softer than when he was neutral just a second before.

  There was a deep red jacket over his shoulders, zipped up so you could only see the top few buttons of his shirt. His jeans were ripped at the knees, and extremely baggy, looking like he had had them for years and didn’t have the heart to throw them away.

  “Dylan!” He exclaimed holding his arms out for a hug. His voice was higher than Amethyst thought it would be, and sounded rough, like a smoker’s, “Good to see you, man.”

  “Hey,” Dylan replied, moving in to hug the taller man. When Amethyst said taller, she really meant it. He looked over six foot, and when he noticed her she realised her mouth was open.

  “Hi,” She quickly stood and held her hand out when Dylan and Harper parted, “I’m Amethyst Dunn.”

  “I know,” Harper took her hand, and shook it quickly before letting go, “Dylan told me about you. I’m Harper Kemp.”

  “I know,” Amethyst echoed his greeting, “Dylan also told me about you.”

  “I like bringing people together.” Dylan shrugged, back to the boy Amethyst saw yesterday, a grin on his face that could brighten anyone’s day.

  “So, uh, why are we in a park?” Harper laughed, and Amethyst felt suddenly sheepish.

  “I just said the first place that came to my mind.” She shot Dylan a look, “This one bombarded me with texts until I agreed to meet with him.”

  “Yeah, he does that.” Harper laughed again, then gestured to the bench on the other side of the park, “We should probably sit down. This conversation sounds deep as hell.”

  They slowly walked over to where Harper pointed, and Amethyst’s stomach started doing back flips. What was she doing? How exactly was this going to work? She didn’t know if they were planning on defeating Kamini or just talking about it, so they could avoid her. Dylan said he wanted to help, so he wanted to go after her. Amethyst wasn’t so sure.

  This woman was something else. She had confidence, experience, malice.

  How could they compete with that?

  “We don’t really deal with this stuff often-” Harper started once he and Dylan were on the bench. Amethyst took a seat on the roundabout just in front of them, deeming it a tight fit and uncomfortable situation if she joined them- “But when we do, there’s a- uh- protocol so to speak.”

  “What protocol?” Amethyst leant forward with her forearms on her thighs, and observed how Dylan was looking at Harper with unwavering attention.

  “We gather all the information, consult everyone who knows anything, then come up with a plan to get rid of the problem.”

  “Like what?” Amethyst asked, “Kill her?”

  “Maybe.” Harper shrugged, like that was nothing.

  “So, we’re already talking about murder, here.”

  “She’s the one that started the conversation.” Harper stated simply, and Dylan nodded.

  “If someone like Kamini is going around killing people like she has the right; you don’t stop that easily.” Dylan waved a hand, “Especially when she’s a werewolf.”

  “How many?” Harper looked to Dylan for an answer, but Amethyst was the one who spoke.

  “Two,” She said, before reconsidering, “That we know of.”

  “One of them was a kid.” Dylan added, staring at his lap. How did he know that? The only reason Amethyst knew about the killings at all was because of her mum being a police officer. Where was Dylan’s source? They were keeping it on the down low, out of the media for now, for what reason, Amethyst didn’t really know.

  “You want to let that sit?” Harper was talking to Amethyst this time and she clenched her jaw, hearing the accusation that it was.

  “What are we meant to do about it?”

  “Something,” Harper frowned, leaning forward, “Anything.”

  “And die trying?” Amethyst raised her eyebrows.

  “Maybe.” Harper shrugged.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Deadly.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Before we can even consider any of that-” Dylan interrupted their staring contest with a wave of his arms, “Protocol. You said we need to know everything we can?”

  “Yes.” Harper answered simply.

  “Amethyst?” Dylan looked at her knowingly and she swallowed, knowing what was coming. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to recount the night a few days ago. It was still to fresh, an open wound, unlike the slowly healing wounds in her neck. Unthinkingly, she brought her hand up to them and felt the slightly raised skin her hair was no longer covering.

  “I noticed that when I came in,” Harper nodded at where Amethyst’s hand was just covering the marks, “She do that to you?”

  “It’s just a scratch,”
Amethyst avoided both of their gazes and stared at the trees a few metres away from the edge of the tarmac, “I was walking through the woods, following a gut feeling. She was there, started taunting me, knew my name, threatened me, chased me, cut me, and here I am.”

  “Was it really that simple?” Harper asked, clearly sensing that Amethyst was leaving parts out.

  “Just that simple.” She replied smoothly, meeting his eyes coldly.

  What does death feel like?

  “What did she look like?” Dylan took out his phone and unlocked it, seemingly to write down whatever Amethyst said.

  “She was tall, taller than me anyway, with dark skin. I think she was Indian, maybe? She had a French accent, but it wasn’t very strong so I’m assuming she hasn’t lived there for a while. Young clothes, self-made crop top and really, really tight leather pants.” Calling her memories forward, Amethyst’s throat closed up, “Almost- almost golden eyes,” She blinked, “Sharp features. Rancid breath.”

  “Hey,” There was a hand on her shoulder and she looked back at the boys, realising her eyes had watered up, “It’s okay. You’re safe.” It was Dylan’s hand, and she sighed.

  “For now,” Thinking of Faye, and the boy, and the other victim that Amethyst didn’t have any idea of whom they were, it wasn’t possible for her to sit this one out, she knew, “I won’t be when I go after her.”

  “I know someone we need to go see,” Harper said, starting to smile.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “A florist’s?” Amethyst read the hanging sign above the door Harper had stopped at and wrinkled her nose in distaste. Her and flowers never got along. They smelt too strong, especially since she was turned.

  “Kind of,” Harper replied, smirking slightly, sharing a knowing look with Dylan before pushing the door open and tinkling the bell above it.

  Inside, the walls and floors were clean and white wallpaper and tile, probably cleaned every hour by the looks of it. No one else was in the shop, so all the rows and racks of flowers were completely visible, fading from colour to colour. It was odd. People usually organised flowers by the species, but clearly the person who owned this shop felt that colour would be more appropriate.

  In all honesty, it looked much more pleasing to the eye than other florist’s.

  There were signs above the counter on the other side of the room, painstakingly handwritten with chalk in many different colours, intricate drawings of flowers in vases next to the words. Amethyst didn’t bother reading them, instead moving her gaze around the rest of the shop and letting her senses take over.

  At first, the smell was overwhelmingly sweet and floral, unsurprisingly, then Amethyst keyed into the undertones of the scent. There was something musky, distinctly male, and sweaty. It smelt like someone had been running around the store. By the state of it, probably cleaning. The smell seemed weaker where Amethyst was, but she could tell there was a trail of it leading to the door by the counter. It was like a visible line that she could see in her mind’s eye.

  “Mr Volkov?” Harper called out, trailing his fingertips gently over the petals of the flower next to him. Feeling awkward and out of place in a room where Harper and Dylan felt so at home, Amethyst shoved her hands into her jean pockets and rocked on her heels, looking around at the plants.

  “Coming!” A voice came from the back, with a hint of an accent Amethyst couldn’t place. After a few moments, and a distinct crash in the back, followed by a hushed curse in another language, a man came out of the door, red faced and breathing heavily. He had an apron tied tightly low on his waist, covering the top of his light blue jeans.

  This was clearly the man that the scent belonged to, the sweat marks under his armpits and strong punch of the musky smell from earlier hitting Amethyst’s nose. She coughed into her hand, overwhelmed by the strength of it. As she looked up, she saw recognition dawn on the man’s face.

  Clearly somewhere in his forties, he suddenly looked years younger, scared, haunted by memory. The crows’ feet by his face almost disappeared with his smile and he started muttering to himself.

  “No,” He murmured, “No, no, no. Not happening.” He went to leave and go back through the door, but Harper started speaking before he could.

  “Come on, Volkov, you know I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t really need you.”

  “You promised me-” Volkov pointed at him accusingly, looking almost hurt- “You promised me you would leave me alone. After- after-”

  “I know.” Harper stepped forward, holding his hands out, attempting to be placating, like dealing with a startled animal, “But you know the protocol.”

  “Where’s your mother?” Volkov frowned, “If it’s protocol she should be here, not her pup.”

  Pup? So, this man knew about them, about werewolves. This must be who they were there to see. If he knew something that Harper didn’t, they needed him.

  “She’s-” Harper swallowed- “Not available at the moment.”

  “If it is really so urgent then she would be here.” Volkov’s lips drew into a thin line, “You should go, boy, and take your kids with you.”

  “Two people are dead-” Amethyst spoke up, almost cowering at the glare she received from Volkov for her trouble- “If you can help in any way, you have to.”

  “You didn’t have that attitude earlier-” Volkov tilted his head- “Now did you?”

  “How did you-?”

  “Do you know anything about a werewolf named Kamini?” Harper interrupted her question, and Amethyst had to stop herself from smacking him. No, their friendship, or whatever it was, wasn’t there yet.

  “Kamini?” Volkov said the name as if testing it on his tongue, “Never heard of her.”

  “You’re lying.” Harper stated.

  “No,” Volkov narrowed his eyes, “I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.” Harper took another step forward, “Now tell us what you know. Please.”

  “You damn kids.” Volkov muttered, kicking at the stool behind the counter before gesturing for them to follow him. He disappeared through the door again, and Harper glanced at Dylan. The other boy raised his eyebrows.

  “By all means,” He said, holding his hand out for Harper to go ahead of him.

  “Pussy.” Harper teased with a smile before leading the way to the back room Volkov had gone into.

  It was the opposite of the shop.

  There were books and papers scattered everywhere, most dusty, and untouched for God knows how long, and others on the floor, looking as if they had been violently thrown, their pages cruelly bent and ripped in places. There was only one light in the corner. It was a weak bulb, screwed into an even weaker looking lamp. Amethyst could almost feel the dust moving as she walked, following Harper and Dylan to where Volkov was flicking through the pages of one of the untouched books, murmuring to himself in another language. Considering his name, Amethyst assumed it was Russian.

  Amethyst’s phone pinged in her pocket.

  “Sorry,” She said quietly before taking the phone out of her pocket and flicking it onto silent without looking at the notification. It could wait.

  As Volkov roughly went from page to page, he had an energy around him that Amethyst didn’t recognise. It was electric, almost sentient, and it made goose bumps raise on her skin. She brushed a hand over her forearm and frowned.

  “That happens.” Dylan smiled at her, showing his own arm, sleeve rolled up, goose bumps visible.

  “Why?”

  “Magic.” Dylan shrugged, and Amethyst’s head whipped back to where Volkov was still absorbed in the book. Harper, who was stood on the other side of Dylan with his arms crossed, was watching Volkov as if it were a familiar sight.

  “Are you serious?” Amethyst whispered, and didn’t appreciate when Dylan laughed slightly.

  “You’re a werewolf, and you’re shocked magic is real?”

  “I guess I never put two and two together.” Amethyst elbowed Dylan when he laughed again, then quickly schooled her fe
atures when Volkov shouted in delight and pointed to a passage in the book. Harper, Dylan, and Amethyst all crowded closer and looked at the hand-written paragraph.

  12/4/08 14:36

  It has been six weeks until I last felt a pulse, but today it was strong. Grace feared for my life, bless her soul, when I almost fainted from the power of it. Still not used to my enhanced senses, it seems. This one was strong for reasons unknown to me, but I do know it means more power. A werewolf, certainly, made at this time and date exactly. Impossible to know what makes them different, but I feel they are. Great things for this one. Great things indeed. Far away, too. Spain or the South of France, I think. A name came to me too, though I’m not sure how it would be spelt. Kameeny? Kamminy? Very powerful, strong pulse. Perhaps it felt strong because of the length of time since my last one, but I can’t be sure. Kameenie will achieve as a werewolf, thrive, I feel it.

  “2008?” Amethyst read the date again, “That was 8 years ago, why has she started killing now?”

  “Maybe she hasn’t.” Harper hadn’t looked away from the page, “God knows how long she’s been going. We’ve only noticed because it’s here.”

  “So, you’re saying she could be a serial killer?” Dylan took a step back from the book and the others, the colour draining from his cheeks.

  “It’s more than likely.” Amethyst put her hands on her hips, taking in the information she had just received. This woman had seven years of experience on Amethyst, and, according to Volkov’s passage, is more powerful than the average werewolf. For God’s sake, Amethyst was eight when Kamini was turned.

  “I have felt pulses that strong before-” Volkov bit his lip- “But never have they gone astray. They usually achieve great things, not damn themselves.”

  “And everyone around them.” Dylan added bitterly, his face still deathly pale. Kamini, a serial killer, had threatened Amethyst. A serial killer had dug their fingernails into her neck. A serial killer turned her.

  “Why did she turn me?”

  “What?” Harper asked, and Amethyst’s head shot up. Did she say that aloud?