Witches & Werewolves: A Sacred Oath

by Bella Raven

“Like a dog, dog?” I say.

  “Yes, I have a dog. Is there a problem with that?” Ethan says.

  “That’s kind of weird, isn’t it?” I ask.

  “Now, why would that be weird?” Ethan squirms and furrows his brow, taken aback by my line of questioning.

  I have to admit, I’m kind of enjoying putting him off balance. “Oh, no reason,” I say.

  “His name is Charlie, if you must know,” Ethan says.

  “And do you take Charlie on walks through the park?” I ask, teasing.

  “Charlie likes to run,” Ethan says.

  “I guess he’s like a brother to you,” I say, holding back a grin.

  Ethan’s face crinkles up, and he shoots me a frustrated look. Maybe I’m pushing my luck teasing him like this, but I can’t help it.

  My phone rings, but I don’t recognize the number.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that,” says Ethan.

  I never answer calls I don’t recognize, but I have a nagging feeling that this call may be important.

  “Hello?”

  “Were are you?” Jen asks.

  “I’m with Ethan, we just picked up Noah. Where are you?”

  “You are not going to believe what happened,” Jen says.

  “Where are you calling from?”

  “Ugh, don’t even get me started. I’m in the principal’s office,” says Jen.

  “What did you do?”

  “Really? Just because I’m calling from the principal’s office you automatically think I’ve done something wrong?” Jen says.

  “Um, yeah.”

  “I am a model student, thank you very much,” says Jen.

  “So what did you do?”

  “Without admitting to anything, my car somehow seems to have left campus during fifth period, and it got t-boned on Fern Street,” Jen says.

  “Right in front of the school?”

  “Yes, didn’t you see all the shattered glass in the road?” she asks.

  “I had other things on my mind,” I say.

  “Anyway, I’m going to need a ride. Do you think that you and tall-dark-and-brooding can come and pick me up?” Jen asks.

  “Yeah, we’ll be there in a minute.”

  “By the way, you have no idea how hard it was to track down your number. It took an act of congress to get the office to release it to me, cause it’s not like I’ve got it memorized,” says Jen.

  “Where’s your phone?” I ask.

  “Right here. Mostly. The display is cracked in several pieces. It makes a really attractive farting sound when you power it up, but that’s about all it’s good for,” she says.

  I hang up and ask Ethan if he minds swinging back to pickup Jen. He obliges and transforms himself into our personal chauffeur. Jen rambles non-stop from the moment we pick her up. I’ve never seen her talk so much, but I suspect it’s her way of dealing with the accident. Or, maybe she’s nervous to be in the car with Ethan. He can be very intimidating, and I suspect she knows exactly what he is. Her eyes dart about the interior, and she fidgets, constantly shifting in her seat.

  “Are you sure you’re ok?” I ask.

  “I’m fine,” Jen says.

  “What were you doing, anyway?” I ask.

  “Under the advice of counsel, I’m going to assert my fifth amendment privilege,” she says, wryly. That means it’s a private conversation for us.

  “You’re so unoriginal Jen. I wreck my car, you wreck your car. Next thing you know, you’ll be dressing like me.”

  She snorts. “Not likely, I actually have fashion sense.”

  “Hey!” I protest.

  “It’s ok. You are learning, under my expert tutelage, of course,” she says.

  Then the full magnitude of the situation hits me—neither one of us have a car. “How are we getting to school now?”

  “How are you getting to school? I’m suspended,” Jen says.

  It doesn’t seem to bother her at all. In fact, I think she kind of likes the idea of having a few days off.

  Getting suspended never really sounded like an effective deterrent to me. It’s kind of like saying Hey, you screwed up, so, we’re going to give you a vacation. I know, it goes on your permanent record. And it affects your grades. But I have no doubt that Jen will use her powers of persuasion to minimize any damage, in that regard. I’ve noticed that people often fall under her spell, and she can get pretty much anyone to do whatever she wants.

  My chest begins to sweat, and the uncomfortable churning in my stomach grows as my mind searches for a solution to my ride problem. Ethan shakes his head. He know’s what’s coming next, but I’m not going to ask. I refuse to ask him for a ride. But if he wants to offer, that’s another story.

  Jen finally settles down, leaning back into her seat. But her gaze is fixed into space—her eyes twitching back and forth, like she’s watching a replay of the accident in her mind. I recognize the look all too well.

  “I just don’t get it? I’m sure I did everything right.” Jen says.

  “Get what?” I ask.

  “Oh, nothing,” she murmurs, broken from her trance. “I just loved that car. It was supposed to stay shiny and new forever, poor thing.”

  “Is it fixable?” I ask.

  Jen bursts into laughter. “Fixable? Oh no, I’m afraid Xander has gone to the great junkyard in the sky.”

  “Xander?” I say.

  “See, everyone names their car,” Ethan says.

  I roll my eyes. “It can’t be worse than mine?”

  “Honey, you know I’m not one to be outdone,” she says.

  “How can it be worse?” I ask.

  “Did they have to get the jaws-of-life to pry you out of the wreckage?” Jen asks.

  My eyes flash to Ethan—he was my jaws of life. I look back to Jen. “What happened?”

  “You know where the student lot exits on Fern? That’s where I got hit. The eighteen wheeler didn’t even have chance to tap his brakes when I pulled out in front of him. Xander and I ended up over on Perth Street, upside down, underneath the truck.”

  “That’s over a block away!” I say.

  “Took over two hours to get me out of the car,” Jen says.

  I stare at her, slack-jawed.“Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Not a scratch.” Jen smiles.

  “What about the other guy?” I ask.

  “He’s okay. His truck’s kinda messed up,” she says.

  As Jen recounts the events, my stomach grows queasy, my chest tightens, and I begin to hyperventilate. I can see the twisted wreckage and almost feel the impact. I hear the shriek of metal collapsing and glass shattering, spraying razor sharp shards about the interior. I see the tangled car grind across the pavement underneath the wheels of the mammoth truck, showering golden sparks into the air. The smell of burned rubber and gasoline fill my nostrils, as if I’m actually there. I feel trapped—cocooned by the mangled sheet metal in a claustrophobic coffin. It’s as though Jen is letting me see into her mind.

  “Are you ok?” Ethan asks me.

  His voice snaps me out of the vision. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “You look green,” he says.

  “I just need some air,” I say.

  Ethan pulls over, and I burst out of the car, heaving for breath. I calm down after moment and regain my composure. The imagery in my mind was so vivid. It brought me back to my accident. Back to my parents accident.

  Jen climbs out of the car and dashes to me. “Drama queen,” she says, playfully. “I’m the one who got in a wreck, remember.”

  “I saw it. So real, like I was there.”

  “Spooky,” she says, mocking me. “Maybe you can be the one to tell my parents that my car is scrap metal?”

  I huff. “No thanks, I’ll leave that one to you.”

  Aside from being a little frazzled, Jen looks amazing. Almost glowing. I can’t tell if she’s just in some weird state of post traumatic temporary euphoria, or extreme denial. I get it, somet
imes surviving a near-death experience can be exhilarating. Empowering almost. Like giving the finger to death. In a way, it makes you feel invincible.

  “How did you survive that?” I ask, bewildered.

  Jen shrugs. “Just lucky, I guess.” She climbs back into the car, and I follow.

  Ethan’s cobalt eyes stare at me, unblinking, assessing me as I buckle my seatbelt. I’m sure he thinks I’m absolutely crazy. The buckle clicks into place, and I glance up to meet his gaze. I peer at his brilliant eyes from behind strands of hair that dangle into my face. Strands that I’m trying to hide behind, because I’m feeling desperately small. I imagine that he wants to get these neurotic women out of his car as soon as possible. But I see an emotion in his watchful eyes that I did not expect.

  Genuine concern.

  “While it’s touching and romantic to watch you two gaze longingly into each other’s eyes, there are more important matters at hand,” Jen says. She holds out her splintered phone. “As you can see, my phone is not living up to it’s full potential.” The mutilated device burps hideous digital growls, screeching when she attempts to use it. “We have to stop and get me a new phone on the way home.”

  Ethan scowls at her.

  “What, I have a constitutional right to free speech,” Jen says, her voice rich with playful sassiness.

  Ethan shakes his head, and I giggle. “Probably shouldn’t offer strangers rides,” I say to him. “Look what happens.”

  He sighs and points the car in the direction of the mall. “We have to get back before nightfall,” Ethan says, his voice grave with implication.

  CHAPTER 17

  STANDING IN THE mall parking lot, I gaze at the horizon. The sun dips down, dangling above the tree tops, casting hues of magenta and orange across the pillow shaped clouds. In another thirty minutes, the sun will drop down beyond the trees. Beyond the edge of the Earth, enveloping Haven Hill in twilight. Then, nightfall.

  I contemplate Ethan’s dire admonition. What, exactly, will sundown bring?

  Jen has her head down, fumbling with her new phone. She does her best to taunt me with all the new features that it has, taking every opportunity to tease me about how inferior mine is. Then it rings for the first time—I can tell it’s her parent’s, and they don’t sound happy.

  Jen assure’s her mother that she’s fine. That it’s not a big deal. That the car just had some minor damage. It sounds like her mother isn’t really buying into it. Apparently, she got a call from the school, the police, and the trucker’s insurance company. She’d been calling non-stop, but hadn’t been able to get through until Jen’s new phone was activated. Somehow, Jen manages to put a spin on it where it actually doesn’t sound that bad. At least, not as bad as it was.

  Ethan seems impatient, fidgeting as we huddle around his car. “We should probably get going.”

  I nod.

  Chocolate ice cream covers Noah’s face, and melted rivers of fudge stream down his fingers. It splatters onto the pavement as he clutches the ice cream cone. Noah wears the chocolate mask like a badge of honor from his bout with the triple decker. It’s a fight to the death, and the ice cream is losing. Noah has whittled his opponent down to a single scoop.

  Ethan clicks the door unlocked, and Noah starts to climb into the car.

  “Hey, hey! Finish that up before you get in,” I say.

  “It’s no big deal,” Ethan says.

  “You’re going to have chocolate all over your car,” I say.

  “It will wash off,” Ethan says, his eyes glimmering.

  I feel the butterflies in my stomach flutter for an instant, and I find myself even more attracted to him. To show compassion to me is one thing—to show compassion to someone I love is another. Ethan earns double points, and I force back a smile.

  After Noah and Jen climb in back, I slip into the passenger seat. I glance down to see chocolate drippings splattered on the door sill. Noah stuffs the rest of the ice cream in his mouth and wipes the remaining chocolate that stains his hands on his jeans. I just shake my head.

  Jen is still doing damage control on the phone with her mom. I stuff my crutches into the footwell, leaning them along the center console. It’s a tight fit, and I worry what’s going to happen to these things if we were to get into some kind of accident. Which is not entirely out of the realm of possibility, in light of recent events. I just don’t want them to become projectiles, but I suppose will survive the drive home. And there are more important things to worry about, at the moment.

  Ethan fires up the engine, and we bolt out of the parking lot. He doesn’t say anything, but his face is stern. Focused. He keeps glancing at the ever descending sun. He races to drop me off before it vanishes. By the time we get to Jen’s house, a quarter of the glowing inferno has dipped below the horizon.

  “Wish me luck,” Jen says, climbing out of the car.

  “Call me with an update,” I say.

  Jen chuckles sarcastically. “If you don’t hear from me by ten, call the authorities.”

  “Just remind them how lucky you are to be alive,” I say.

  “Oh, I will,” Jen says, with a grin.

  Ethan clears his throat, impatient with our conversation. Jen backs away from the car and waves, her eyes filled with trepidation. I wave back. Ethan drops the car into gear and accelerates down the street. The sun has disappeared beyond the horizon, and dusk is upon us.

  The engine growls, and Ethan drives with the precision and focus of a Formula One racer. He carves perfect turns on the canyon switchbacks. The tachometer rises and falls in rhythmic waves, conducting a symphony of speed. His face is tense with worry, and his eyes fervently scan the road. He doesn’t say a word during the entire drive.

  The last magenta hues of sunset have faded, and the sky has turned a cool shade of grey as we arrive at uncle Jakes. I open the door, pulling my seat forward, and Noah squeezes out. He waves to Ethan and heads inside. The cool evening air wafts into the car.

  “Go inside. Lock the door. Don’t go out tonight,” Ethan says.

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  “I’m not going to go wandering through the woods, if that’s what you mean?”

  “No, I mean don’t go out at all. Don’t even step out onto your front porch,” he says.

  “Is this the part where you tell me that the full moon is going to transform you into an uncontrollable beast, hungry for blood? My blood?” I tease, doing my best to make my eyes smolder.

  “You watch too much TV.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “We don’t have time for this right now.”

  “I’m not getting out of the car until you tell me,” I say.

  “I can’t tell if you’re stubborn, or just extremely stupid.”

  His words sting. I swallow hard, my throat tightening. My lips tense, and I fight back a frown. I can feel my eyes filling, but I keep telling myself not to cry. I don’t know if I’m more angry, or hurt.

  “You know what I am, and yet you sit here in the car with me as a full moon is about to break,” Ethan says, gravely.

  “I thought you just said you weren’t going to turn into some uncontrollable maniac?”

  Ethan’s grim eyes stare at me.

  “You won’t hurt me,” I whisper.

  “Yes, I will.”

  “You didn’t last night. You saved me.”

  “Tonight is different,” he says.

  “How?”

  “I can control it every other night of the month. Except tonight. The power of the moon is…”

  “So, you will turn into an uncontrollable monster,” I sigh.

  “I need to go. Do as I say. Please.”

  “What are you going to do?” I ask.

  “I need to lock myself up so I won’t do anything I regret. It’s what I’ve always done. But that also means that I can’t protect you,” Ethan says, his face anguished.

  “From?”

  “The others.”

 
“And these other wolves are the one’s responsible for all the attacks?” I ask.

  “There is nothing more nourishing for a werewolf than human flesh. It’s something every wolf must feed on to survive.”

  “Every werewolf? I mean, you don’t eat…” I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence. “Do you?” I ask, my voice barely squeaking the words out.

  His eyes darken, and his face grows treacherous.

  “Never mind, don’t say it,” I mumble. “I don’t want to know.”

  Okay, I want to know, but I don’t. I want just a few more minutes of fantasizing that this could all work out somehow. That we aren’t mutually incompatible by virtue of the fact he needs to eat human flesh to survive. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am stupid.

  “Starting to feel uncomfortable yet?” He asks.

  “No,” I say, hoping he can’t tell I’m lying.

  “It’s not just creatures like me that you have to worry about.”

  “Let me guess, vampires, witches, and warlocks?” I say, my voice overflowing with sarcasm.

  “Yes,” he says, his voice thick with dread.

  “You’re for real?” I ask, as snarky as ever.

  “Is it so hard for you to believe?”

  I take a long deep breath, trying to determine what it is, exactly, that I do believe. It’s easy to dismiss all of this as nonsense. The escapist ramblings of a girl suffering from extreme loss, creating a fantasy world in which to occupy her beleaguered mind. And Lord knows, I’ve tried to dismiss the things I’ve seen. I’ve tried to come up with some rational excuse or explanation. It would be easier just to say, or rather, just to admit, that I’m crazy. That I’ve gone off the deep end.

  But I’m not crazy. I know what I’ve seen. I believe Ethan is a werewolf. And, if he can exist, so can vampires and witches.

  I take a deep breath, staring into his eyes with conviction. “No, actually. It’s not hard for me to believe at all. You have no idea how much I want to believe. Believe in something more. More than this. The most terrifying thing I can imagine is not werewolves, or vampires, or witches. The most terrifying thing that I can imagine is that there is nothing out there at all. That there is nothing beyond this life. That when we close our eyes for the last time, it is just blackness—the long dirt nap, where we all become worm food.”