by Mary Dublin
"Good," Spencer said. "I want to know who—" He stopped short. The amount of people milling between him and Jon had lessened, and she could see him more clearly. She could see the way his eyes flicked in her direction. Not in Jon's direction, but hers.
"Sir?" the woman asked.
Another human, passed through Sylvia's line of sight, and then Spencer was looking the other direction. "My blood pressure," he said simply, striding away.
Sylvia released a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. She rushed to assure herself that there was no way he could have seen her, not with Jon's fingers blocking her. Surely the man would have said something if he spotted a fairy.
"That's him," she told Jon, tilting her head up. "It is him."
She knew he'd heard her when his hand closed her into near darkness, and tucked her firmly to what she thought was his stomach. His ambling stride took on a new purpose as he took off in the direction Spencer had strutted off in.
"He's making a break for it," Jon growled. "He's getting in his car… dammit."
Dizzy, Sylvia pushed at his fingers, prying open a gap big enough for her to see a glossy red car pulling out of the parking lot. There was a sudden screech of tires peeling against the asphalt that didn't align with the departing vehicle.
"Jon!"
He whirled, and Sylvia spotted Cliff's beat up car waiting for them just beyond the curb.
"Get in, hurry!"
Jon wasted no time. He bolted for the passenger's side door and threw himself into the seat. Cliff was stomping on the gas before Jon had fully shut the door. Sylvia was gasping to catch her breath, seeing spots from how fast Jon had been running.
"Pretty amazing timing," he remarked, stealing a glance at him while he busied with setting Sylvia on his knee.
"I saw him freaking out during the alarm, thought we should follow our gut." Cliff's eyes were set on the road with a dead focus as Sylvia had never seen.
"Your gut's right," she said, struggling to steady her voice. "It's him. He's the werewolf, I felt it."
Jon extended a finger beside her. He must have noticed her struggling to spread her wings all the way. Too grateful to pass it up, she grabbed hold of the digit and pulled herself to an unsteady stand on his leg.
"We must have really rattled him." Jon sounded slightly short of breath.
"It was the lights, he kept covering his eyes," Cliff answered briskly.
"A stimulant?"
Cliff smirked, pressing deeper on the gas. "Let's ask him ourselves."
The speed did nothing to help her balance. She stumbled and clung harder to Jon's finger, squeezing her eyes shut briefly in an attempt to ward off the dizziness. She needed to get a hold of herself quickly. They could be charging after the werewolf on foot at any moment.
"I think he saw me," she blurted, biting back a wince when she finally unfurled her wings. With how erratically Cliff was driving, she kept a cautious hold on Jon and rolled her shoulders to work out the soreness. "I think… I dunno, he looked right at me! Last night, too. In the alley, he looked up toward me." She hadn't planned on admitting it, but the implication was too unnerving to keep to herself.
The hunters went eerily silent. They exchanged harried looks over her head, but it was Cliff who voiced their concerns.
"The way you can sense when monsters are near… can they sense you, too?"
A chill ran down her spine. "It feels like too much of a coincidence. I don't know if it's a monster thing, or just a werewolf thing, but…"
She trailed off, wondering if she would sleep soundly again knowing that monsters might be able to find her. With fairies in hiding, monsters targeted humans. But she had been taught that fairies could just as easily become victims if they were careless. The glamour bounds of the village no longer protected her, and she was exposed to anything and everything in the world that would want to hurt her. She had already been aware of that, but now she felt more unsafe than ever.
"It doesn't matter," she said, flexing her wings in determination to have her flight back as soon as possible. "You're on his tail. He'll be gone for good soon, and it won't matter if he could sense me."
"Well it kinda matters now," Cliff muttered. "I think he knows we're onto him."
Frowning, Sylvia turned a look onto Jon. He seemed to take the cue without words, and scooped her up higher so she could see over the dashboard. Her jaw dropped when she spotted the glossy red car up ahead. Ronald Spencer was driving just as erratically as Cliff was, taking sharp turns onto narrow streets and speeding past other vehicles to cut ahead.
When a minivan slowed in front of them, the red car managed to make a sudden U-turn at the traffic light.
"Don't lose him!" she blurted, gripping the edge of Jon's hand anxiously.
"I don't tell you how to fly, don't tell me how to drive," Cliff growled back.
The light turned red—the signal to stop moving. All the other cars obeyed, but Cliff gunned the gas to the floor. He twisted the steering wheel sharply, the vinyl slipping under his calloused palms. Sylvia screamed as Jon went lurching into the window, the smell of something burning in the air. Other vehicles honked their horns like furious geese by Fog Lake.
The car righted itself and Cliff began to lay on the gas once more. Ronald Spencer's car was not far up ahead, with nothing in between them now.
Short of breath, Sylvia didn't dare to release her hold on Jon's hand. She spared a glance at him as he straightened up with a grimace. She bit back the urge to ask if he was alright, knowing there was little that could be done about it at the moment.
With Cliff closing in fast on the other car, Sylvia's thudding heart didn't calm in the slightest. After his chaotic turn, she was terrified of what he could possibly be thinking.
"What, are you going ram into it?" she said, her strained voice barely audible over the car's roaring speed.
"Not gonna have much of a choice if he doesn't get off the main road," Cliff grumbled.
As if on cue, Spencer's car took a turn down another road, bumper bouncing as the tires hit the gravel stretch. When Sylvia glanced over at Cliff now, he was wearing a wicked grin.
"That's more like it."
He turned the wheel to follow. The smell of skidded tires and dirty air was slowly replaced by a familiar, earthy scent that seeped through the vents. A tunnel of trees began to thicken around the road instead of buildings. Sylvia sat up straighter, looking around with focused curiosity.
Although the gravel road stayed somewhat level, the ground surrounding did not. The thick trees blotted out much of the sunlight. There were dips and deep declines that felt far more natural than the man-made road. Despite the fact that they were tailing a werewolf, she felt safer in the familiar environment.
That was, until a disconcerting sensation flooded through her. She went rigid with surprise. Even when Spencer had been standing mere feet away in front of the office building, she hadn't sensed him this strongly. Last night in the alley, however…
"You said the flashing lights inside the building could be a… a stimulant?" she asked, fresh terror snaking through her. "As in, he could transform? He's panicking and making it worse. I can feel it. It's only a matter of time before—"
The red car just ahead screeched and swerved off the road, rocketing loose gravel beneath its tires right before it disappeared into a decline. Not long after, a metallic collision rang out, more frightening than a gunshot, accompanied by shattering glass.
"Don't take the car down there! You'll hit something too," Sylvia said urgently, leaning forward in vain to see the other car. If the sound was so terrible, she couldn't imagine what it looked like. And she certainly didn't want to experience a crash firsthand. Cliff was good on the road, but taking a risk with the unpredictable terrain of a forest wasn't worth it with the other car already stopped. "Maybe… maybe the crash killed him."
Their ride gave a final lurch as Cliff pulled the car off to the side of the road and killed the engine. The three of
them held their breath, looking in the direction of the opposite slope. Without the roar of the engine, birds could be heard passing conversation in the surrounding trees. Patterns of sunlight swayed as a breeze carried through the canopy. Carried on the wind, beginning of dark smoke began to pour from where the grass cut off steeply.
"Can you still feel him?" Jon's voice came at her back, making her go rigid.
"I feel something," Sylvia surprised herself when her voice came out as a whisper. "I… I can't tell if he's dead."
"This has been months coming his way," Cliff growled under his breath. "I'm not taking any chances."
Sylvia had only just caught her breath, but it started to quicken again as Cliff and Jon each moved to get out of the car. She spread her wings when Jon stepped outside, distancing herself. Those hands that had gently borne her aloft now seized a gun from his waistband. A lump swelled in her throat at the sight of the gleaming metal.
"Sylvia?"
She snapped her gaze up to his face, to the fading scars she'd given him.
"You don't look so good," Jon said, exchanging a look with Cliff as he came close.
A sad smile wavered at her lips, but she didn't allow it to show. Even after she'd told him to forget her, even during a hunt, he was blatantly concerned for her. So close to finishing the case… she couldn't break now.
"I'm fine," she said firmly, hovering at their eye level. "Listen, I can still feel him there, and the feeling isn't getting any weaker. That can't be a good thing." She threaded her fingers together, wishing it was easier to swallow the instinct to escape the range of the werewolf. "Since he knows I'm with you… then we should approach from different sides, you know? He'll sense me, and you'll be able to catch him by surprise from the other side."
Jon pulled an incredulous face. "You're offering yourself as bait?"
"If I distract him from the other side, it'll give you the element of surprise," Sylvia said, brandishing her hands toward the plume of smoke arcing through the branches.
"Absolutely not."
She stared down at him, a few moments of shock passing before she could find her voice. "E-excuse me?"
Jon raised his eyebrows. "I said, not a chance. You're not throwing yourself at a werewolf. We don't need you to do that."
"We have a perfect window of opportunity here to finish this fast," she said sharply. "If you move quickly, I'll only be bait for a few seconds. That's all. I told you I wanted to help with this case, and I meant till the very end. I'm trying to make it easier for you. Let me."
"Trust me… it'll be easier for me if you stay behind."
She gave him a long look, prepared to keep arguing. But every second she tried to convince him was a second wasted. By the look on his face, he wasn't going to budge unless she agreed to stay put.
Sighing heavily, she pushed both hands through her hair. "Fine. Fine, I'll stay here." She looked away and clenched her jaw. The hunters, at least, had no ability to sense where she was.
Thirty
Four
Smoke filled Jon's nostrils long before the crumpled car was within sight. Even with Sylvia stationed safely back by Cliff's car, his heart was beating frantically. Months of fruitless searching were about to come to an end. He made a mental note to thank Sylvia again if he survived the encounter—assuming she stuck around long enough after the hunt. Maybe it would be better if she didn't.
The worn soles of his shoes threatened to slip along the gouged tire marks in the grass. It was a steep slope, and he cringed to see that the damage to the car was all but catastrophic. Having lost control of the vehicle, Spencer had veered off into a thicket of sturdy oaks. The glossy exterior was now a smoldering wreck, resembling a crushed soda can more than a sports car.
They reached the base of the hill, where the tree's overarching branched shaded them from the sun. Through the shattered back windshield, something moved. Jon threw up his hand, throwing a warning look at Cliff.
"He's still alive," Jon breathed.
Cliff's mouth hung agape. "There's no way…"
They crept closer, guns raised at the ready. As they grew nearer, a scratching sound could be heard from within, punctuated by groans of pain.
"Spencer?" Cliff raised his voice in warning. "Come out slow, you hear me? We've got to talk."
More scratching. After a few moments of this, the driver's door popped open. The hinges had been damaged in the crash, leaving it to swing open like an old saloon door. Jon wasn't sure what to expect. It was anyone's guess whether a flustered businessman or vicious werewolf would be stepping from the wreckage. He held his breath as a pair of shaking legs hit the ground, and the rest of Ronald Spencer slid out of the car.
"Oh, gross…" Cliff dismayed under his breath.
What emerged was a horrific mutation, something in-between. Jon staggered back at the mere sight of him: bulging, bloodshot eyes and yellowing skin that seemed to be growing and shifting on its own accord. A blow on his head leaked blood down his cracking skin, and stained his crisp business clothes.
"You… I know what you are." Spencer bared a mouthful of messy fangs. "Hunters… aren't you?"
"What gave it away?" Cliff stood to the right, completing the protective "V" that stood between Spencer and the road.
But Spencer seemed to be in no state to run. He twitched, doubling forward on his knees. With a moan, he rolled his head to the side in a wild manner. The garbled sound that left his mouth was unearthly deep, and chilled Jon's blood in his veins. When he raised his head again, the white of his eyes had vanished into a tangle of red and black veins. His irises had narrowed to slits.
"You're not here to talk," Spencer rasped.
Sweat beaded on Jon's brow as he met his gaze. "Not really."
Spencer loosed a guttural roar that seemed to rattle the trees themselves, his venomous glare tinging with primal fury. His hands, braced on the ground, convulsed unnaturally. Fresh blood leaked from his fingers as yellowed claws split through his rippling skin like box cutter blades.
There was murder in his eyes as he looked from Jon to Cliff and back again. He was a breath away from lunging at one of them, Jon was sure of it.
With an inhuman speed that didn't match what had stumbled out from the demolished car, Spencer was on his feet and dodging around the side of the vehicle, barreling deeper into the trees instead of heading for the road.
Jon growled out curse after curse as he took off after him. These trees didn't stretch on forever. He estimated there was about three miles of trees left before they hit the next populated area of the city. If they didn't catch up to him by then, there would be serious trouble. It went without saying that Spencer was a walking grenade at the moment, and could explode on any person who wandered into his path.
Cliff had pulled ahead of him, but now stood doubled over in a clearing, scanning the treeline warily. "You see him?" he asked when Jon caught up.
Jon slowly turned in a circle where he stood. They were at the peak of another small hill, which should have given them an advantage. But the specious woods fed into trees that were webbed together by thick curtains of vines and ferns that had never once been curtailed. Movement came from all sides—birds fluttering from branch to branch, squirrels scurrying around tree trunks. Every snap of a twig made the hair on Jon's neck rise.
Then came a sound that was not native to the woods: an enraged snarl somewhere down the hill that sent even the nearby birds fluttering to higher, safer perches. Jon shared the briefest look with Cliff before they started in the direction of the snarl, determined to get there before Spencer could vanish again.
What caused the half-formed werewolf to give away his location, Jon couldn't be sure. It could be that the transformation was taking a fresh and painful toll. Or maybe Spencer had run into local wildlife that was less easily ignored than the birds—a predator that didn't appreciate having its territory encroached upon. Jon felt a chill at the thought of another corrupted animal like the rabid dog or alligator crop
ping up.
"Came from around here." Cliff drew Jon out of his tunnel-vision of the unseen path that led to the noise. "Look."
Jon frowned at where Cliff pointed. A fresh set of claw marks splintered one side of the bark of a young oak tree, red from either the blood Spencer's own protruding nails, or from whatever he'd been aiming for. He had to have been aiming above his head to swipe that high, though.
"What was he chasing, a chipmunk?" Cliff muttered, stepping away briskly.
Before Jon could follow suit, something else caught his eye. Streaks of white on another nearby tree that was by no means natural discoloration, not with the way it was beginning to fade right before his gaze. His heart was already plummeting by the time he reached out, brushing two fingertips along the disappearing white mark. It was crystallized, cold to the touch.
"Shit," Jon whispered, freezing for only a moment before he snapped out of it and tore away from the frost, looking around frantically. "Shit!"
Another animalistic snarl came from his right, closer now. Jon spun and bolted toward it, not pausing to quiet his steps. He could hear a voice mixing with the growls now, though he couldn't make out what was being said. Spencer's voice had turned distorted and thick, like each word was a struggle.
Between a weave of dangling vines, a shadow lunged. Only four feet in front of him, yellowing claws flashed in the sunlight, grasping for something that moved just out of reach. Understanding immediately what Spencer was hunting, Jon dug in his heels and lifted his gun. It was a spotty shot, aiming between the foliage, but it would have to be enough. The next time Spencer's mangled form crossed his line of sight, Jon fired two shots into the thicket.
Silence.
Breathing heavily, he plunged forward with the confidence that his shots had found their mark. Jon stopped short past the tangling vines and looked around. There was blood on the ground, but no sign of a body.
"Jon, no!"
Whipping his head up, Jon glimpsed Sylvia as a speck that crossed in front of the sun. He squinted to see her face contorted with horror as she flew closer. He turned over his shoulder, spotting the prowling figure too late. Spencer leapt from the branches like a panther, tackling Jon to the ground.