by T. Mikita
Jules sat beside him and took his hand.
“I don’t know what to do,” Asher said, but that wasn’t really true. He knew there was only one thing to do: find the bastards that did this; only, he didn’t know how. He only knew he wanted to kill the things that had done this. Whoever or whatever they might be. Was that crazy? Maybe.
Asher’s hands shook. He fumbled for his phone in his pocket. Blood smeared across the screen as he thumbed it to unlock it. The bodies…the blood…it all made no sense. Why would anyone kill his parents?
“Why?” He asked Jules, not really expecting an answer.
Instead, she made an inarticulate cry and jumped to her feet. “Ash, behind you!” she shouted.
The supposedly dead creature reared up from beside his father, hissing as it approached. The skin of its skull dangled over one ear, and the raw area glistened with black blood, but the thing came on still. Now, Asher realized that the gray creature was the same as the ones at the convention center. He could see it more clearly now.
It slashed its claws in Asher’s direction, and he felt his new stitches pull as he twisted away from the thing.
He lunged for the closest weapon. His father’s sword. Where did it go? Asher was sure his father had his sword on the floor a moment ago. Quickly, he pulled another ceremonial blade from the wall. He held the sword raised in a defiant stance, daring the thing to come for him. He swung violently and missed the creature’s head by mere inches.
Jules dove for the night stand where his father kept his gun, she pulled it from the drawer and shot the creature. It stumbled, as Jules sent more bullets into it. The monster kept coming. Blood and black ichor spraying from each bullet wound. Even wounded, the monster reared up, hissing with claws extended toward Jules.
The gun clicked empty, and Jules discarded it on the bed. The creature reached for her, screeching like a banshee. Jules stumbled back.
“Jules, no!” Asher shouted. There was no way she could take on the clawed thing hand-to-hand.
Asher unleashed his fury. Raining sword blows down upon the creature in a mad fury.
“Get back,” he cried and she dropped to the floor, like they had in their childhood games when all the danger was getting wacked by a plastic sword. Now the peril was far more immediate. Hot adrenaline pumped through his veins.
Jules knelt beside the bed with the drawer of the night stand yanked out onto the floor. She shoved new bullets into his father’s revolver.
Asher danced backwards, trying to avoid the thing, but also keep it away from Jules. Blows from his sword were glancing and not really doing much good. He needed to get a solid swing in, and take off its head, but it was just too fast. He realized in that moment that was what his father had tried to do. The slice in the thing’s skull, he realized, was made by his father’s sword trying to behead the thing.
From the corner of his eye, Asher saw Jules sight the monster with Dad’s gun. He moved quickly back trying to stay out of her line of fire, and the creature came after him as he pitched himself backwards. Bullets didn’t seem to do much good, but as soon as the thing was distracted, he would lop off its head.
“Jules now!” He cried.
She took the shot. Asher was ready with his blade. He put all of his effort into his swing.
The report of the gun was deafening, and when he swung, the creature’s head simply wasn’t there anymore. Blood and thicker things showered down on him, and he realized Jules’ shot had blasted the creature’s head to bits.
“Fuck,” Asher muttered, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
Shaking, Jules looked at the thing, still holding the gun on its twitching body. “Is it dead?” she asked.
“It has no head, so I think so,” Asher answered, and then frowned. “What the hell did you shoot it with?”
“I don’t know,” Jules said, with a shrug. “Your dad’s ammunition.” She laid the gun carefully aside and pulled one of the bullets from the box and looked at it.
Asher came up beside her. Silver, he thought. His dad had fucking silver bullets. He could not quite contemplate what that meant, or perhaps he just didn’t want to think about it.
Jules leaned against him and he put his arm around her holding her. For a moment they just breathed and then the enormity of the situation hit them both. They sank to the floor, held in each other’s arms.
“We have to call the police,” Jules said at last.
Asher nodded. “What the hell are we going to tell them?” He looked at the pile of goo that had once been the creature. The silver seemed to be eating away at it like an acid. It was already unrecognizable. No one would believe there were some otherworldly creatures in the house. Asher hardly believed it himself and he had fought the thing. This all seemed like a terrible nightmare.
“Let them figure it out.” Jules suggested lamely.
Asher nodded. “I guess, it’s their job,” he said. “But this is beyond crazy.”
Jules nodded. Talking about something as logical as police work almost pushed the unthinkable from both of their minds. Almost.
5
Goodbyes
Asher really wasn’t sure how he made it through the days that followed. They passed like a bad dream. It was just after the funerals, when Asher got the letter. He waved it in front of Jules. He was to be admitted to the fancy boarding school run by his crazy Aunt Evelyn.
The letter was not personal. It was a standard printing. It even had a fucking crest on it with the words, Honor, Chivalry, Equality in a circle around a rampant lion. Asher recognized the emblem from some of his father’s King Arthur memorabilia.
He slapped it on the table in anger. “She missed her own brother’s funeral,” he said. “And she can’t even send a personal note. Just this.”
“At least it has a postmark,” Jules teased. She smiled breaking the oppressing sadness they had both felt since the tragedy.
“As opposed to what?” Asher asked, almost returning her smile.
Jules shrugged and smirked. “I don’t know. Owl shit?”
Asher burst out laughing. It was the first time since his parents’ death. It felt cathartic, and he hugged Jules, holding her close. After a moment he stilled. “I’m not going,” he said. Even as he said the words, thoughts of simply entering the house where his parents were killed seized up his insides. He couldn’t live there. If he didn’t go to the school, where would he go?
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, you are going,” said Jules. “No one refuses to go to a magical school.”
He had to smile. “It’s not magical. It’s just a boarding school.”
“Uh huh.”
“I’ll get you an invitation too,” he promised. “I’m not spending my senior year without you. Bad enough I’m without Mom and Dad. I’ll get you there no matter what bullshit my aunt spouts about how exclusive it is.” Asher had always known his Aunt Evelyn, ran a prestigious boarding school, hidden somewhere in the Allegheny forest, but Asher had never been there.
Jules nodded. “Thanks Ash,” she said. “School here will suck without you too.”
In spite of his misgivings about the new school, Asher had answered in the affirmative when his aunt had sent the letter; not that he really had a choice. His aunt was his only family now, and although he was no longer a minor, he certainly didn’t feel like an adult. He had once considered himself pretty self-sufficient, but now that his parents were dead, two months past his eighteenth birthday did not seem old enough to be on his own permanently. For the next few months at least, he would stay at the school with his aunt and graduate high school. He would get his bearings. Then, there would be college to think about. His dad had a rather surprising insurance policy so it wouldn’t be as much of a problem as Asher had originally thought, at least not financially. He tried not to think of the reason Dad had that insurance. Had he known his life was in danger? Why? Asher pushed the dark thoughts away.
The only real glitch was leaving Jules. Asher was sure that
once he talked to his aunt in person, he could convince her that Jules should come to the academy too.
He gripped the letter like a lifeline and Jules shook her head sadly. The air was still filled with tension and grief. Asher wanted to cheer up his friend even though there was nothing he could say that would help. For as long as he knew her, Jules had been near permanent tenant at his house. She was family.
“I stopped expecting this shit at eleven,” he teased, waving the letter again.
Jules just shook her head, a sad smile on her lips. “I’m happy for you. Really,” she said. “You’re getting out of here, no matter what the school is like. You are getting away from the memories here. That has to be a good thing.”
“Yeah. A good thing,” Asher said without really agreeing.
Within days his parents’ house was packed up by the disaster cleaners and movers sent by his aunt. His father’s antique weapons were all catalogued, wrapped and ready to be shipped to Whitehall Academy. Asher had barely been able to reenter the house to pack his own belongings. He entered through the garage and kitchen so he wouldn’t have to go into the living room. The master bedroom haunted him, but he did not look at it. He didn’t need to. The images were forever embedded in his psyche.
Jules agreed to take him to the train station. His best friend flipped on her turn signal and waited for traffic on Grant Street. It was surprisingly thin in the early hours of the morning. The silence between them was unnaturally tense, and Jules turned on the car radio.
“Sorry to get you up so early,” Asher said.
“Yeah, last time I saw the sun rise, I was probably coming home from a bar,” she said with a yawn.
Asher smiled. That was an unlikely story. With her mother’s alcohol problems, Jules was a surprising teetotaler. She looked like the sort of woman who would indulge, tough as nails, dressed in black down to her nail polish, but looks were deceiving in more ways than one.
Asher scoffed.
Jules gave him a look of mock seriousness. “What?” she said, with one eyebrow raised. “You know we can’t really drink. At least not at a bar. We aren’t old enough.”
Asher snorted. It felt good. Laughter had been in short supply lately. Jules really was the only person who could make him laugh.
Truthfully, neither of them were prone to drinking or drug use which is why it was so hard to explain the creatures they saw that night. In fact, when Asher had hesitantly brought it up to the police, the officer asked if they had been intoxicated. Asher shook his head. He knew what he saw. It was all he could think about.
Until that awful night, Asher and Jules had not actually believed in such things. Sure, they had both been obsessed with fantasy since they were kids, and had read vociferously trading opinions about nearly every fantasy ever written, and most of those that only existed in film and television. Then they compared the books to the movies, only disagreeing on Lord of the Rings. Asher had liked the movies but he had never quite gotten through the books. He found the long descriptive passages and poems exceedingly dull, but he couldn’t tell Jules that. It was probably the only secret he kept from her. She could quote the whole damned book, a side effect of her nearly eidetic memory. Damn he was going to miss her…almost as much as his Dad and Sharon. Jules is not dead, Asher reminded himself. It’s just a different school. And next year there would be college. He would be back. He wished he didn’t have to go. Especially not now.
“I wish I wasn’t going,” Asher whispered.
“I’d be excited,” Jules told Asher. “If I were going to Hogwarts.”
“I’m not going to Hogwarts,” Asher objected.
“Uh-huh,” Jules said in a light tone, that could have been joking, but they both knew the seriousness of the situation. Jules voiced the thought. “That was before we killed a werewolf.”
“We don’t know it was a werewolf. It rose from the dead like some kind of zombie.”
Jules shrugged. “But silver killed it.” She glanced at him. “You know, your dad had a book on different mythological creatures,”
“Of course he did,” Asher said. “And silver bullets.”
The friends looked at one another, but neither of them had answers.
“Sharon said Aunt Evelyn was weird, not that she was a witch,” Asher objected.
“Dudley called Harry a freak too, remember.”
Asher just shook his head and laughed a little hesitantly.
“And anyway, Ash, someone named Evie can’t be all bad,” Jules said trying to cheer him up. “Although a principal is nothing like a librarian. Mr. Hensley is proof of that.”
“You are not funny,” Asher said feeling a little angry for no particular reason except that he was leaving Jules behind.
Jules said nothing.
“I was four or five, oldest, the last time I saw her.” Asher mused. “I called her Aunt Evie. Sharon called her Evelyn.”
“You don’t remember anything else?” Jules questioned as she waited for a bus in front of her to make a turn.
“Not really. I was too little when she last visited,” he shrugged. “She and Dad had a big fight, and he told her to leave.”
“Well, if she really is a witch, I wouldn’t go about threatening her,” Jules said. She looked at Asher for a long minute as they sat stopped for a traffic light. “I’m excited for you,” she said. “Really I am. I’d be more excited if I was going with…but I’m excited for you.”
“Thanks,” Asher said softly.
Truth be told, he was excited too, but he felt guilty for feeling good about anything right now. It was fine for a child to be enchanted with the thought of going away to a magical school, it was quite different for a high school senior to feel the same. He wanted to graduate with his class. With his friends. With Jules. Most of all he wanted his father and his step-mother to still be alive. Life was rarely what you wanted. Gawd, this sucked.
“It’s just bizarre,” he said getting quiet as she maneuvered through the downtown streets toward the train station. It was too close to the convention center where he and Jules were attacked the night his dad and Sharon died. He averted his eyes from the structure, and Jules threw him a look. “I just don’t know what to expect,” Asher said at last.
“Cauldrons and sexy potions masters,” Jules quipped.
“Be serious, Jules.”
“A way to kill the monsters,” she mused softly, but with a gravity that gave Asher chills. He grew silent.
There was a haunted look in her eye as the thought of the thing that had killed his family passed between them unspoken. Asher nodded.
“Be safe,” he said.
He had given Jules his dad’s gun. She had the carry permit, not him, and he had never been the crack shot she was. It was something of his Dad’s that he could give her, along with the silver bullets…He hoped she didn’t ever need to use them.
“I’ll be fine,” Jules said putting on a brave face, but Asher knew she taken to sleeping with the loaded gun near her bed, just like Asher’s father had done. She would not load it entirely with lead. She always had at least one silver bullet ready to fire. She couldn’t get what she had seen that night out of her head either. Asher didn’t want to worry Jules; he didn’t tell her how upset he was about leaving her behind. There was nothing he could do to stop it, and truthfully, he wanted to learn whatever he could. Then he could tell her.
“It’s going to be fine,” Jules said again, but Asher could tell she said it to convince herself as much as him. “You’ll have fun. And I’ll be there with you as soon as I can.”
“I will talk to my aunt.”
“I know you will,” Jules said.
“Even though Sharon thought she was crazy,” Asher added.
“Some people might think we are crazy now,” Jules said. The thought weighed on Asher. He knew Jules couldn’t tell anyone else what happened that night. Who would she talk to with him gone? With Sharon gone? He stared at the empty street.
“All I know is
that Dad and Aunt Evelyn never really got along, and Evelyn hated Sharon,” Asher said.
That was enough of a reason for him to dislike the aunt he hardly remembered. Sharon was much more than just Asher’s step mom. Asher’s dad specialized in Medieval artifacts and folklore. He traveled a lot to various archeological sites and to guest lecture at different universities. Since Jules’ own Mom barely qualified as a functioning adult, Sharon, had pretty much raised them both. After Jules’ dad left, Jules’ mom had crawled into a bottle and stayed there, Jules had taken comfort in Sharon’s open kitchen. Sharon had always been there for the both of them. Asher was quiet and thoughtful as he stared out of the window. Thankfully, Jules seemed to understand. She turned up the radio a little, leaving Asher alone with his thoughts.
Everything was so up in the air right now. Sharon was the only mother Asher had ever known. And now she was gone, eviscerated by the same monster that had killed his father. Asher fought the wave of grief that came over him with strangling suddenness. He stared out of the window at the gray sky. The questions nagged. Why did his dad have silver bullets? Who had silver bullets? And then Asher thought of the woman who had given him birth, Vanessa. His father never talked about Vanessa much, except to say that she had died in some horrible accident. Something to do with his aunt’s fancy school. Asher had always assumed it was some sort of lab fire, but now he was not so sure.
He had never known Vanessa. It was Sharon who had sat with him when he was sick, or baked cookies at Christmas. He had actually given the last of the frozen chocolate chips to Jules. He couldn’t eat them now. He cleared his throat. He refused to cry again. He was done crying. He would learn, and then he would find the things that killed his parents.
He knew that the police were not up to the task. They called it a home invasion gone wrong. Very wrong, Asher thought. They were still looking for something human. Asher had been almost ready to believe the police and put aside what he saw, but Jules saw it too, and he could not disbelieve. There was no other way to explain it, so they didn’t try. The silence stretched before them as they grew close to the train station.