by Rita Webb
rumbles through his chest.
“Are. You. A. Werewolf!”
“Of course not. Werewolves don’t have wings.
I’m a chimera—part man, part wolf, part white
hawk.” He pauses. “You’re not guilty of bestiality, if
that’s what you are wondering. I am an intelligent,
sentient life form from a … different world. My
people have mated with humans before.”
“Oh. But then how did you appear human at
first? You shape changed like a werewolf.”
He laughs, a throaty, growly sort of laugh, and I
like the sound of it. “See this amulet?” He points to
a crystal hanging from a chain around his neck.
Until he pointed it out, I hadn’t noticed it before.
“It creates a glamour, just like the Stetson I usually
wear. An illusion you can touch and still seems
real.”
“Does that make you faerie? I heard faeries use
glamour.”
“The fae don’t need crystal amulets to make it
happen.”
We descend down through the clouds, and I
peer at the ground. Below us, a forest stretches for
miles in all directions, the city left far behind us.
“Where are we?”
“State park near Anchorage. You’re in luck.
Alistrad has a portal here today.”
“Who is—”
“No more talking. We’re approaching fast, and
the sorcerer’s ears extend far.”
We alight as soft as a feather in front of an old
barn. I open my mouth to ask why a barn stands in
the middle of the forest but then remember he’d
said no more talking.
He leans in close, his whiskers tickling me. “I’ll
answer all your questions later.”
I nod.
Inside, the space is bigger than I expected. How
do all these tents fit inside this small barn? I look up
and all around. Colored lights crisscross like a
spider web above us, and wherever the ceiling is, it
hides in the shadows.
And everywhere, people dart here and there like
a tornado is coming and they only have ten minutes
to tie everything down.
“Spatial displacement. Inside the barn, we’re in
a pocket dimension.” He glances at me. “Think of it
as an alternate dimension like you see in sci-fi
movies.”
“I hate sci-fi.” Especially since my sister loves it.
“Well, comic books then.”
“I never read comic books.”
“Angel, you don’t know what you’re missing.”
He grins at me. “They’re like soap operas for men.
You like soap operas, don’t you?”
“I watch a few. Aren’t we supposed to stop
talking?”
“Inside, he can’t filter every conversation. As
long as we don’t talk about anything important or
say his name, we’re fine.” He pauses. “Don’t say my
name either. He doesn’t like me much. In fact, I
seriously doubt he has completely recovered from
our last encounter.”
“Won’t someone recognize you? Why don’t you
use your amulet?”
“That will trigger his safeguards.”
The Hunter takes my hand and leads me
through the chaos. I stare at the men and women,
some with crazy hair colors and pointy ears, some
with thick black collars around their necks and
glittering outfits, others wearing coveralls covered
in paint and … gunk I don’t want to decipher.
And everyone ignores us.
“Excuse me. Coming through.” A dwarf with an
empty wheel barrel shoves past us, his short legs
pumping faster than I think they would, his top half
swaying like a penguin’s. I barely step out of the
way in time before he runs over my toes. He
disappears into one of the tents.
“What is this place?”
The Hunter points at a sign: Michael Magnificent
and the Magician Magellan’s Magical Menagerie of
Malicious and Monstrous Misfits.
“It’s like a circus,” he says.
“Explains a lot.”
He sniffs the air. “This way.”
At the back wall, we duck into a tent where a
girl sits in a cage, her face pressed to the bars, her
long green hair falling in waves down to her feet.
Her green eyes stare at me, pleading silently, but
for what, I don’t know.
This is a siren?
She doesn’t seem like a monster to me.
She isss.
Kill her.
Drain her blood.
“Now that you have your prize, I’m leaving.”
“But … how do I get her out of there? How do I
get her back to Anchorage? For that matter, how
do I get back to Anchorage?”
“That wasn’t part of our deal.” His eyes watch
me like I’m his prey.
I swallow back the fear. “What do you want?
Another night?”
“No. A month.”
“Don’t toy with me.”
“Wolves aren’t cats. We never play around with
getting what we want. We see something and we
take it.”
“Fine, but not until the summer. I have to finish
school,” I lie. I have no intention of fulfilling the
contract. Not that I didn’t enjoy our night together,
but after today, Jason and I will finally be together.
He grins wolfishly, white teeth glistening in the
dim light. “I know you’re lying, angel, but I
remember how you cooed when I kissed your
tender places. You’ll come back to me.”
Footsteps click on the walkway outside the tent,
and Hunter grabs my hand and we duck behind a
stack of hay bales. The flap rustles and someone
enters, whistling a tune, and when I peek over the
hay, I see him from the side—pointy ears, long blue
braids, and a sharp chin.
“How are you today?” Notebook in hand, he
offers it to the monster in the cage. She writes
something down, and I beg the stars or whoever
may be listening she doesn’t tell him about us.
My nerves race wildly, and I can’t stay still. I
plunge my hands into my pockets to keep from
fidgeting, and my fingers close over a piece of
paper—my shopping list.
The pointed-eared boy continues his one-sided
conversation as he sweeps the floor, gives the girl
fresh water and raw meat (I knew she was a
monster), and lays out fresh hay. After unlocking
the door to the cage to give the siren her fresh
food, he locks it back up and puts the keys on a
loop on his belt.
I look at Hunter and then point at the keys.
He nods.
Whistling again, the boy heads for the tent flap,
only now Hunter walks behind him, his footsteps so
quiet, he almost seems like he’s floating toward the
boy.
A sad sigh escapes the monster as she watches
the wolf, but she does nothing to warn the boy.
Good monster. Maybe I’ll make your death quick.
As the boy leaves, tucking his tall frame under
the tent fla
p, the Hunter lifts the keys off the belt
and then turns to me with a devilish grin.
I can’t help but grin back.
Hunter breaks the collar, and her screech slips
out, piercing my ears like ice picks. Growling, he
hits her over the head with the iron collar, and she
slumps to the ground.
Monster indeed.
The voices are right: the world would be better
without her.
I’m not evil.
I’m saving the world. Even Buffy killed monsters.
Who can blame me for that?
“All right, angel, now for the tricky part. Time to
walk out the front door with a siren. Here, put this
on.” He hands me a pair of sunglasses and puts on
a second pair. Then he picks up the siren and
throws her onto his shoulder.
Pulling out what looks like an old pocket watch,
he holds it in his free hand and takes off running,
turning left and right, often slipping between tents
as he goes. I have to jog to keep up. Somehow on
our way to the exit, we manage to evade all the
circus workers milling about.
“Here we go. Act natural, and whatever you do,
don’t drop the glasses.” With that, he steps out
with the siren and approaches two huge guards.
The big green one has tusks sticking out of his
jaws like a boar’s. He lumbers toward us with a
huge wooden club.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he rumbles.
“I got what I came for. Now I’d like to go home.”
Hunter continues forward as if nothing’s wrong.
“YOU NO TOUCH PRETTY!” The second guard
charges him. He is so tall, I don’t even come to his
middle. He could step on me and not even notice.
Hunter holds up the fob watch. Bright, silvery
ribbons flow out of the watch and swirl in the air;
writing on the streams of magic glow with a bright,
white light. With a sudden jerk, the ribbons surge
out and dive into the two guards.
They both stop mid-step, their expressions
blank. Brilliant white light surrounds them both
keeping them from falling. Their upraised legs
slowly lower to the ground.
“What was that?” I ask.
“Keep moving.” He walks through the doorway
and disappears, and I follow him out into the
Alaskan snow. “It’s a little something a friend
cooked up for me. They won’t remember anything
that happened for five minutes before and after I
use it.”
“I’ve never seen anything like that before.” And I
thought talking cats, blue ladies, and chimera were
odd. I know absolutely nothing about this world I
stumbled into.
He grips my waist and lifts me up. “Let’s get out
of here. There’s no way Alistrad will miss that
magical surge, and I can’t fly very fast carrying
double.”
Chapter 24
~ HUNTER ~
“Hey Riley, where’s Brogg?” I sit down at the
bar, and the bartender—a bulky man with a shaved
head and a patch over one eye—sets my usual
whiskey in front of me. A scar runs down one
cheek, and rings pierce his ears, eyebrows, and lips,
tattoos covering every inch of exposed flesh.
I stare at the bottle and tumbler Riley set in
front of me. Maybe just a drink to take the edge
off. To forget the angel I had in my bed, the woman
I’ll never see again. I don’t need to know what she
needed that siren for. It is not my concern. I fill a
glass to shove away my guilt and loneliness.
Raking my shaking hands through my hair, I
glare at the tumbler. When did I become an
alcoholic? I thought I could quit anytime.
“He’s out,” Riley says. “How do you always know
it’s me?”
“The gold tooth was a little much. Besides,
Brogg never hires anyone new.” And you always
smell the same. Magic and clay—emotionless,
genderless, empty. “What do you really look like
under your mask?”
Blushing, Riley glances away, eyes downcast,
demure. It looks strange on a pirate. “You wouldn’t
want to see. It’s nothing special.”
And for a moment, the pirate’s features become
feminine and shy, voice soft and lilting, before
reverting back to the harsh manly appearance.
“So, is this in honor of your trip to the tropics?
That was a fun boat ride.”
The pirate flashes a gold tooth in a lopsided
smile and puts a finger to his lips in a conspiratorial
hush. I snort as I take my bottle and still full
tumbler to my usual table.
One drink. Just one. I stare at it a moment,
before throwing it back and swallowing it. The
burning liquid spreads comfort through me, and I
hate myself all the more for needing it.
I’ll quit tomorrow. I promise.
Worry squeezes my heart like claws digging into
me, and I shove the feeling aside. Why should I
care? I’ll never see her again. I didn’t survive this
long by caring about anybody but myself.
But she’s in over her head.
I growl. Not my business. I did the job I was paid
to do. Whatever dark magic she has planned, the
consequences are hers to bear.
But she has no idea what she’s getting herself
into. I helped her do something that will likely get
her killed. If I hand a grenade to an ignorant
toddler, wouldn’t I bear the responsibility?
I down another mouthful of whiskey, but it
doesn’t drown the nagging questions pricking my
conscience.
Stupid conscience. It would be wiser if I never
see her again. Safer for her, better for me.
I feel eyes watching me—predator instincts
dragging me out of my brooding. Glancing up, I see
Riley pointing my way. Two people—young and in
love, by the pheromone smells coming off them—
follow the pointed finger toward my table. What
are two mundane humans doing here? How did
they even find this place?
Exactly what I need—more foolish pups needing
my help.
I hate them. Their happy smiles. Their youth. So
much unspoiled potential.
Once I had love and innocence, and it was
ripped away from me. I slug back another drink.
Glaring at them as they approach, I imagine
ripping their throats out, but they don’t even falter.
Anyone else would’ve run away.
Compared to me, the boy is scrawny. Good
muscle for an average human, but not enough
brawn to take on a full grown lupine chimera. And
the girl is just a mortal human. No magic, no
weapons. I could break them with my bare hands.
But killing them before they even get a chance
to talk would be bad for business.
Messy pink hair, mismatched clothes, bright
turquoise eyes, the girl stops in front of my table,
one hand on her hip, and flashes me a smile. “Can
we sit with you?”
What the hell?
Then I catch a whiff of her—something about
her smells familiar. I sniff the air, pulling in her
scents, tasting them—the cinnamon roll she ate for
breakfast, the smell of unicorns, and … My hands
tighten on the whiskey bottle. Traces of the girl
who hired me to kidnap the siren. My angel.
I pushed the thought aside. I won’t lay any claim
to her. She’s not mine; she never will be.
The girl standing before me looks like her too,
except for that ridiculous hair color. Must be
family, probably wants to blame me for whatever
the blonde got herself into. Still, not my problem.
I curl my lip. “Don’t bother sitting down. I’m not
working with you.”
She pulls the chair out, sits down, and leans
forward. “Please. We really need your help.”
For a moment, guilt nearly knocks me off my
chair. What if my angel really is in trouble?
Why should I care? I stand and lean over the
table, towering over her. “Girlie, I could eat you for
a snack.”
“But you won’t,” she says.
The entire room is silent for a long moment. The
band stopped playing, and everyone watches us.
“Look, we just need to find the missing siren and
the girl who took her,” she whispers, glancing at
our audience.
“She was a paying client.”
“We have money,” the boy says.
Turning, I study him more closely. Like some
pathetic pretty boy, his hair curls around his face
and his lips are red, his cheeks flushed, but his
bones are thick and strong and his eyes burn with
intelligence. I inhale but I can’t get a lock on his
scent. Whatever spell is masking it is top notch.
“The American dollar means nothing where I
come from.” Technically true, even if I normally get
paid in cash these days. Mostly I just want him to
piss off.
“What about gold?” He holds up a thick coin.
“Drakonian gold is hard to come by.” Who is this
kid, carrying real imperial currency? This just got
interesting.
He shrugs.
I pocket the gold. “Fifteen more pieces, all of
this quality, but just as you ask me to track down a
client, I have no qualms tracking you for somebody
else. Gold is gold. I have no loyalties to you once we
find this girl.”
He pulls out a bag and counts out fifteen pieces.
Sixteen pieces total for the job. I never work for so
little. I must have lost my sanity when that girl