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James’s Note: Here we get to meet a Character I love named Tasha. She is 100% inspired by the relationship in Lord of the rings between Tom Bombadil and his wife. It also leads to the introduction of her husband Ollie, whom I love even more.

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I sent a quick text message ahead so my friends would be ready for me, and we came pulling up to a closed shop front that red, “Ollies Guns and Ammo”. The the tallest most beautiful blonde you ever met in your life was standing out front. As I staggered out of the car she exclaimed, “Oh Danny, you are a mess. Come here, come here.” Her accent was light, musical and hard to pin down. 

She scooped me up like I was a little child, instead of the at least moderately strapping grown man that I actually am, and carried me inside. Damien followed confusedly, instructing the junior werewolf to remain with the car. It sucks being the low man on the totem pole in a werewolf pack.
She took me inside, through the gun shop, to the kitchen of her apartment that was above the shop. She laid me on her kitchen counter and began rubbing her hands all over my chest, neck and face. She also began to hum the most beautiful melody and her hands glowed with a warming, gentle light. I swear I could almost feel the burst veins, arteries and capillaries knitting themselves back together at her gentle request. I coughed up a final glob of coagulated blood  that she cleaned up in a business-like manner without so much as a word. It’s really nice having friends who aren’t entirely human. 

“Thanks, Tasha.” I said as I tried to sit up. She pushed me back down, insisting that I was going to ruin all her hard work, and told me to lay still while she fixed me a tea to finish setting me. She cleaned up the remaining blood from my face and what she could get off my clothes, and sauntered into the kitchen. She may be married to one of my best friends, but watching her walk is still a borderline religious experience.

Damian suddenly appeared beside where I reclined on the kitchen counter, detaching himself from the corner where he had been skulking. I think being in a stranger’s house made him uncomfortable. Not knowing who or even what they were, he didn’t know how much of an asshole he was allowed to be. This kind of attitude is exactly why I don’t like most werewolves. I much prefer the philosophy where you treat everyone with kindness and respect until they have earned the right to be treated like the dick they are.

“All right good”, Damien snorted uncomfortably, “if you’re all healed up we can get you out of here so you can make a full report to Wolfgang?”

I slowly started trying to sit up, careful not to hurt myself, per Tasha’s instructions. “Look Damien, I fully intend to get Wolfgang his report, but before I even start worrying about that, I’m going to finish making sure I don’t die. After that, I’ll look into dealing with the ravening monster in the city. Then, and only then, will I hop my happy ass back into that Honda Civic and go have a nice little chat with your Alpha.”

Damian growled, which I still say was uncalled for. “What do you mean you’ll look into dealing with it? Now that we know what it is, the pack will deal with this loup-garou.”

“Loup-garou huh”, came a voice from the bedroom door, “that’s a new one in these parts. And if that is what you’re dealing with, it’ll eat your little pack for breakfast, lunch, dinner and have some left over for a midnight snack.

I looked up, grinning, as my friend Ollie walked into the room. Dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and Jesus-stomper sandals, he was a short man with a stocky build that made him look pudgy. His hair was long in back with a high forehead that gave him the impression of going bald. He was absolutely not the kind of guy you would picture being married to Tasha. He was also a werewolf, a fact that Damien’s flaring nostrils indicated he had picked up on immediately.

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 6     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10
Part 11    Part 12    Part 13     Part 14     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17     Part 18     Part 19
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Sharon’s note: I have a couple of stories with this character on the sight, including Funny Business and Little Warrior. Sarah exists in the same world as James’s Witcher Man. I’m glad that I’m finally getting around to giving her a proper outing. Warning: We ain’t afraid of no ghosts. We probably should be.

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“Sarah, could you grab the towels out of the car while you’re there?” Melanie shouted over her shoulder. I was already carrying an entire box full of cleaning products, but yeah, sure. What was one more thing? I propped the box against the car with my knee while I pulled out the paper towels and shut the door. Hefting the box back to my chest, I followed my friend into the house. 

If I was truly a smart person I would have burned the house down the night before. It was incredibly haunted, but my friend had spent a lot of money on it with the idea of flipping it and hadn’t gotten insurance on it yet. I couldn’t do it. Instead I had volunteered to help clean up the house as an excuse to get into the house and exercise the ghosts.

If Melanie had just been moving in herself, this would be much less of an issue. Some people had belief and that was a type of magic. A heartfelt prayer wouldn’t solve everything, but it helped more often than you’d think. Some people had a level of power in their beliefs that could produce miracles. There was little or no difference between true belief and a spell. Unless you asked the person, then the point of power origin was all the difference.

Melanie had disbelief. It was that she didn’t believe. People who didn’t believe in anything at all were usually the vulnerable sort. No, my friend wholeheartedly believed that none of this supernatural nonsense existed and her belief was weapons grade. I couldn’t do any magic in her presence. If the ghost wanted to hurt her, they would have to get really creative about it. Unfortunately, creative ghosts are a thing that happens. 

Besided, whoever my friend sold the house to would inherit some seriously frustrated ghosts, and someone was going to die. I couldn’t let that happen, so here I was, volunteering to clean her house. This was ridiculous. I didn’t even clean my own house. 

A movement caught my attention in one of the upstairs windows. The lacy curtain was pulled aside and a little girl stood in front of the glass. She stared at me with dead (pun intended) eyes. Her mouth opened wide, stretching down past the human norm into a yawning void while blood trickled from her scalp and down her face.

I stared at her for a long moment, deciding how to react. Melanie called my name from inside and I went with my first instinct. I flipped off the ghost before heading towards the house with my box of cleaning supplies inside. The ghost flickered out and the curtain fell back into place. I smirked. While I wasn’t stupid or arogant enough to think this was going to be easy, I did enjoy my little victory. Round 1: me.

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James’s Note: I am a huge fan of subverted expectations. I always like when the monster gets to be the hero. So I asked myself, what if we look at the torturer from a different direction. Also, I came up with the story to match the title, which is wonderful metal.

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I don’t approve of the whip. I never have. 

True, there is nothing like it for inflicting unbearable agony in a hurry. There’s also nothing like it for leaving scars and infected wounds. The fever alone after a lashing will kill as likely as not.

When I joined the order, I apprenticed under Inquisitor Culpeper. If the man had a soul, you couldn’t prove it by me. What he did have was a keen analytical mind and an astounding knowledge of anatomy. It was under his brutal tutelage that I learned the craft I would come to perfect.

By the time I was inducted as a full Inquisitor, I had already revolutionized the field of exorcism. I still remember my first mission. I was sent to this little backwater village in the Blackwoods Barony. The local priest swore blind they had two cases of demonic possession. I rode for a day and a night, sleeping on my horse. Sir Logan, the knight they sent with me for protection, never complained. Not that he could. He was a hulking brute whose mad father had silenced forever when he cut out his tongue. He was no company at all on the trail, but very comforting to have at my back.

When we rode into the village, I realized we weren’t a moment too soon. The priest was unseemly in his excitement. He informed me he had his own whip that he was ready to use. I managed not to spit at his feet in disgust. I demanded the subjects be brought before me at once.

They were both boys, neither one of them could have been over fourteen. I started with the younger, and began my examination. I spoke to him calmly,  soothing him as much as I could. He laughed when I accused him of just being tired from chasing all the village girls. Before the Inquisition, anyone acting strangely was assumed to be possessed. Luckily, we were here to apply scientific reason.

I felt the boy’s brow, and he was burning up. Demons make the body run chill and clammy. Just to be safe, I used my best diagnostic tool. My studies have revealed that no wound treated with fire could cause a fever. I heated a thin steel needle in the hearth until it glowed, and drove it under the nail of his smallest finger. The boy screamed and thrashed, but showed no signs of demonic power. I almost felt guilty seeing the look of betrayal in his eyes.

That was all the proof I needed. Demons are primal by nature, and cannot help but react defensively to paint. I told them that the boy most likely had a brain fever. He might or might not live, but he definitely wasn’t possessed. The priest stepped forward to object, claiming he knew a demon when he saw one. When I called him an ignorant sadist, he tried to hit me.

The crashing backhand from Sir Logan sent the priest to the ground like a bundle of old laundry. I ignored him and turned to the other boy.

His eyes were full of terror as I laid my hands on him. I tried to calm him, but he would have none of it. His father had to hold him tight to the bed. When I felt his brow, he was cold as the grave. When I applied the needle, all hell broke loose.

His eyes glowed like fresh forged iron, and his teeth elongated in the fangs. A forked tongue like a serpent’s lashed out of his mouth. I deftly pinned his head to the bed, careful not to let the blasphemous tongue touch me. Those are usually dripping with poison. That was all the proof I needed. There was at least one demon in this village.

Sir Logan helped me tie the boy to a chair with his head pinned back, staring at the ceiling. I felt sorry for the boy, but this was the only way to save him. In the days before the Inquisition, the possessed were just executed. All those wasted lives still saddened me. But it was okay, I was here to help.

This is where some inquisitors would reach for the whip. I will never use such barbaric practices. You see, the trick is to make the demon feel enough pain that it will reflexively flee its host. They can’t help it. It’s their instinct, because if the host dies while they’re possessing it, they die as well.

That was the first time I ever tried the Drowning Chair. I know, there’s nothing new about controlled drowning. The problem is, when you actually put someone under water, there’s a chance they will actually drown. If fluid gets in their lungs, they can drown hours after you remove them from the water. My way is ingenious, if I do say so myself.

I wrapped the boys head in cloth tightly. He could still get breath, but only barely. I then precisely poured water over his face. When the water soaked the cloth, it cut off all but the barest trickle of air. If you do it carefully, the subject won’t even lose consciousness. 

That made the demon rage. Its skin rippled, talons burst from its fingers, but I am an expert with knots, and all its strength couldn’t even strain the ropes. I think that in whatever form is natural to Demons, they don’t have to breathe. The lack of air seems to frighten them more than actual pain.

This demon was particularly stubborn, and we had to apply the drowning for almost an hour. Finally, the boy’s body convulsed, and a fiery smoke poured out of his mouth. I laughed hysterically and clutched the boy to my chest. It had been my first exorcism, and it had worked.

That was years ago now, but I still think of that boy fondly. I’m sure he doesn’t think of me the same way. I still remember the fear in his eyes as I rode out of town. But that’s fine. I hear he has a pretty wife now, and two sons. And that’s all because of me.

That’s why I can do the hard things. That’s why I can stand the accusatory looks. The people who won’t meet my eyes in the street.

I hope I will be remembered for the good I have done, and judged by the tools I have used.

I’ll let the other Inquisitors be judged by the whip.

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James’s Note: I love the idea of monsters as protectors. I’ve read stories were the monster has to save it’s kid from a human villain. This one is a little different. It’s also about underdogs, which is another soft spot of mine.

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Johnie’s house is full of monsters. None of us are too scary. I mean, we’re all small monsters. 

There’s the one that wheezes and moans that lives in the closet. There’s the one that drags chains across the attic floor. Then there’s me. I live under Johnie’s bed.

Every night, Johnie leaps into bed so I can’t grab his ankle. I’m the reason he never sticks his foot out from under the covers, no matter how hot it is. Sometimes if he feels really brave, he’ll peek under the bed. When he does, he’ll see my glowing red eyes. I mean, I am mostly eyes. And hands. And teeth.

One night I was creeping around the house while Johnie was asleep. Sometimes I hide his Mom’s car keys. Sometimes I raid the fridge. As I was peering out the window, I saw a black figure skitter up the driveway. It was huge, but slung low and long, like the shadow of a tiger. I watched as it flattened itself impossibly and crept under the door.

My blood would have run cold, if I had any. That was a monster. Not a small one like me or the guy in the closet. That was a real one. I crept silently to the stairs and peered through the rail at it.

It had a gray, gaunt face with hollow black eyes and mottled, patchy skin. It’s claws clicked as it crawled up the stairs. Oh god, it was heading to Johnie’ s room.

I didn’t know this thing specifically, but I knew it’s type. It would do something horrible to Johnie. Maybe it would eat his insides and leave the hollowed out husk in bed with his parents. Maybe it would paralyze him and swallow him from the feet up. Maybe it would crawl inside him and make him do horrible things. Whatever it did, it wouldn’t be good.

My hands shook and my teeth chattered. I did the only thing I could think of. I ran back to Johnnie’’s room and hid under the bed. The door creaked open and the thing slithered into his room. It reared up, almost touching the ceiling, and loomed over Johnny’s bed. I could just see its feet from my hiding place.

I was so afraid, but I had to do something. Yeah, I scared Johnny, but he was MY boy. As the thing was reaching out to pull back the covers, I gritted all my teeth. I knew what I had to do.

I might only be a small monster, but I was a bed monster, and this was my bed.

I reached out and wrapped my long fingers around the monster’s ankle. I have a lot of fingers. It growled and hissed, noticing me for the first time. It tried to jerk it’s foot away, but it couldn’t. My grip was like iron. After all, I am mostly hands.

The monster started thrashing as I jerked it off its feet and started pulling it under the bed. It lashed me with its claws and screamed silently as I drug it into my darkness. It tried to fight me, to rip me apart like it would a human, but with one great crunch it was over. After all, I am mostly teeth.

In the morning, Danny’s mom scolded him for the weird stain on his bedroom carpet. She also got mad about all the missing Oreos, but she blamed that on his dad. The Oreos were me too.

I’m glad everything worked out okay. Danny’s my boy and no one gets to scare him but me.

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Sharon’s note: I wrote the first part of this as a Valentine’s day one shot. I hadn’t intended to continue the story, but I had several people ask me what happens next and that is one of the most flattering things a writer can hear. I took a look over the story and realized there was more to tell, so here it is. Warning: I don’t know where this is going any more than you do, folks.

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“So where exactly are we going?” I asked. I’d been driving for two hours now, following Daed’s directions. It had been my first instinct to ditch my phone and the company car as soon as possible, but my new partner in crime insisted that getting rid of my phone wasn’t necessary and that we should wait on the car. I’d trusted him thus far, so I might as well take his word. 

“I am currently negotiating a drop off point for a vehicle swap. Until then, I think that staying in motion is our best course of action. Are you alright to keep driving, Helen?” Daed’s voice was coming over my head piece, because the sound quality was better than the case speaker. 

“Is that why you told me not to get rid of my phone? Because you need the connection?” I ignored the question of whether or not I was alright, because we didn’t have much of a choice. 

“Yes. My current chassis does not have the ability to access the internet. Also, Midas currently lacks the resources to track it. The virus I uploaded will prevent them from tracking us with their own equipment for at least seventy-two hour.”

“And what about someone else’s equipment? The cops can track a cell phone, especially since the phone in question is technically Midas property.” I so badly wanted to throw the phone out the window, but Daed was right. He needed the mobility the phone provided (no pun intended) and I had no money to buy another. I really hoped he had a plan for that.

“Midas will be reluctant to go to the authorities since the facility we came from does not legally exist. They will not want the police to have as much information as they would require.” We didn’t program a ‘proud’ tone of voice for Daed. He was managing it anyway.

“Yeah, but what if they bribe them not to look into it, or to do it off the record? I’m sure that most of the cops are honest, but there’s bound to be one or two that are less scrupulous. Especially if it means looking into a thief on the wrong side of the law, which I technically am, by the way. Besides, they can just hire a private contractor.”

“Midas has protocols in place forbidding the use of private contractors. . .”

“We broke the rules, Daedalus. So can they.” I rubbed a hand through my hair, desperately trying to think of a way to get through to him. “It’s like the roses you bought me. They didn’t react the way you thought they would because they are people. People overreact. People break the rules. These people have their jobs and possibly their lives on the line. They lost one of the biggest investments the company has ever made. Whoever is actually in charge of this corporate monstrocity will kill them for that. They probably won’t mind my superiors breaking a few rules if it gets back their investment.”

“They are not your superiors.” Daed’s volume was no lower than before. It may have been my imagination that he sounded softer. “You worked for them, but they were in no way your superiors.”

I sighed. “Yes. Ok. But they still have a lot of many and the ability to hire more men with guns than they currently have.”

“Yes. I will take into account the new information you have provided me. I have still not learned to account for human variations.”

“If you figure it out, let me know.” I muttered.

“There will be a new phone waiting at the drop off along with the car. I think you will like the one I picked out. It is green.” Yeah, he’d definitely mastered pride. Ah well, green was my favorite color. “And the car is ready. Please turn left at the next intersection.”

Some people joked about their GPS becoming sentient. Mine was, and had proclaimed his love for me and was the only boyfriend I’d ever had who could remember my favorite color. And I was already thinking of him as my boyfriend. Crap. 

I turned my left blinker on.

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James’s Note: Here is where we learn that magic comes with a price, which is a theme in the Witcher Man’s world. We also answer the burning question of, “What the hell was that?”

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I stumbled to my feet and staggered to the other side of the car, looking for Damien. I found him crumpled against the alley wall, just starting to come to. His head was bloody from an impact I knew would have smashed a human’s head like a cantaloupe. In his case, the brain damage was already healing. I wondered if a little brain damage might do him some good. 

Damien growled, climbing to his feet, “What in the hell happened?” 

“Aside from us almost being murdered by a semi-mythical super werewolf, not a lot. Don’t worry, he was marginally less scary than me.” I smiled, a faint glow still visible from behind my lips. 

“What the hell is wrong with your eyes?”, Damien asked in confusion as much as concern. I started to respond with something witty, but instead I collapsed to the ground, shaking violently, and coughed up a great gout of blood. 

About ten minutes later Damien and I were loaded into the back of a junior pack members sedan. We sped through the streets of houston heading to the home of a friend of mine. Damian had wanted to call an ambulance, but I convinced him that was only a good idea if he actually wanted me to die. Luckily, he didn’t. At least not until I had finished his alpha’s business. So instead, he called someone to pick us up and I gave them the address of someone who could help me.  

As we drove, the coughing began to subside. This wasn’t actually a good sign, as I had also started bleeding freely from the eyes, nose and ears. Damien, myself, and most of the upholstery in the sedan were covered in my blood. Damien was subjecting me to a barrage of questions, which I was gamely answering. I figured that, if nothing else, it would distract me while I bled out. 

  “Yes”, I said,” that thing is technically a werewolf. Although in this case, that’s more of a loose classification. Unlike your type, it has no ties to the Moon whatsoever, which is why silver does precisely squat. Its ties to lupus lupus are symbolic at most. That’s why it has several key features wolves lack, like the ability to switch between quadrupedal and bipedal locomotion, and fingers that end in Bowie knives. It’s cycle of transformation is also completely different. Rather than being tired of the Moon, it is tied to its adrenal system. It transforms when angry or afraid. Basically, don’t think of this as a werewolf, think of it as the Incredible Hulk with claws and a tail.”

“They’re born as a result of a rare dormant gene becoming active. They usually don’t begin transforming until late puberty, although some are late bloomers. I’m relatively certain there weren’t any in this country, so this guy must be really new. He probably has no idea what he is. The French call them Loup-garou and they are dangerously close to unstoppable.” 

“Well fuck”, said Damien.

I couldn’t have agreed with him more.

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 6     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10
Part 11    Part 12    Part 13     Part 14     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17     Part 18     Part 19
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Sharon’s note: Life is an uphill battle. Everyone struggles, just some people’s paths are different. Objectively, you can look at two different paths and say that one is harder than another. It is really hard to look at your own path objectively. Looking at any path objectively is hard. Just try to remember that a person’s reality is about perception, not facts. You may not feel that someone’s path is as hard as yours, so they have no reason to complain. Just remember that the hard things they are going through are hard for them, even if they wouldn’t be for you. Be kind. Warning: Main character having a bad day.

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“I’m getting a new desk?” I’d been at the same desk for the year I’d been Operating. After my last failed mission, I’d spent a year in physical therapy before transferring to Hearth. I’d spent six months in training, being yoked to Pamela, my predecessor. I’d done the research, made coffee, called and coordinated with scouts to make reports, and anything else that needed doing to prep help teams on their mission. It sounded like an easy type of job when I’d originally heard of it. Being on the other end, receiving the briefs and directions, I hadn’t thought about all the work that went into it. Straight out of therapy, it was all I could physically manage. 

To start, I could only work a couple hours at a time. Then I had to go to sleep on one of the on call beds because I my reactions were too slow, and I was unsafe to drive home. Slowly, I worked myself up to longer and longer shifts, then suddenly, Pamela was retiring and I had her desk and team. It was a daunting responsibility, until I realized that I was doing the exact same job since I had started with the exception that I was the one calling in a sub for my active missions when I needed a bathroom break. I would never have believed that being told I was switching desk would trouble me this much. God help me, I was attached to a chunk of particleboard and aluminum. 

“You’re not.” Seth said over his shoulder. “Frank is.”

I turned to narrow my eyes at the man behind me. “Why do you need a new desk? You’re getting reassigned next week.”

“Not any more.” Frank’s cheerful grin made me want to punch him. Then again, most things Frank did made me want to punch him. “I’ve spoken with Seth and the doctor. Missing my arm like I am, I just don’t think I’ll be any help in the field, so they’re keeping me on permanently.”

Involuntarily, my teeth clenched. Even though I was forcing myself to relax, I couldn’t keep the incredulity out of my voice. Admittedly, I didn’t try that hard. “You are leaving the field because you’re only missing an arm? Not even a whole arm. It’s like half and arm, and you have a new fancy prosthetic.”

His lips pursed as anger flickered across Frank’s face. “Yes. I only lost half an arm when a werewolf ripped it off. I’m sure you’d be right back in the field after that.”

“If I possibly could, yeah.” My glare was probably made slightly less effective by having to lean against the wall. I had been on my feet for too long and was going to need to sit down soon. It was hard to have a conversation when your legs are starting to scream. “I would kill to just have your problem.”

Frank’s nostrils flared and he swallowed hard before he said in a quiet voice that threatened to shake. “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since that night. I wake up, sweating and shaking. I’ve cried. I haven’t cried since I was a baby. I’ve had nightmares . . .”

“Do  you honestly think the rest of us haven’t?” I hissed. “We are Hunters, Frank! Nightmare’s are part of the job! If you can’t handle that, then maybe you should just get the hell . . .”

“Joy!” Seth’s voice came sharp behind me, and my mouth clicked shut. He must have heard us arguing and come back down the wall. “Frank, go set up your cube. Joy, I’ll go with you to put your lunch in the break room.”

No one moved for a second, then Frank turned to walk away. I barely heard him say flatly, “I’m sorry I’m not broken enough for you.”

Hard Hunting
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James’s Note: As we join Daniel after his apocalyptic car crash, we found out how a Witcher Man faces a monster strait out of a werewolf’s nightmare.

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The next few moments got a bit hazy, but my next clear memory is of having crawled halfway out of my capsized car, dragging my messenger bag with me, blood pouring from what used to be my nose. I was trying to get my bearings when a deafening roar shattered the humid air. It sounded like a T-rex crossed with a jet engine and it was coming from  the walking nightmare standing over me and my poor wrecked mini. 

“I really hate being right”, I muttered to myself as the monster slashed down with claws like a hand full of sickles. I had to slither and roll to simultaneously extricate myself from the mini and evade the descending talon of death. I didn’t quite manage it as the talon sliced through the back of my leather jacket. 

The monster that was currently trying to murder me was exactly what the magical test I ran had indicated. I had been returning to the scene of the crime to confirm the results. What I hadn’t counted on was the culprit returning to the scene of the crime as well. I guess I should have paid more attention to my Agitha Christie crime novels.

My angry new friend was technically a werewolf. However, as impressive as the common werewolf is, this thing was to them what a sabertooth tiger is to a housecat. He stood 9 feet tall with the head of an enormous wolf, long apelike arms that terminated in the aforementioned talons, and a thick black pelt that was almost as tough as kevlar.

 I had to dodge again, this time to narrowly miss it’s snapping jaws. I dove over the wreckage of my poor mini, drew my revolver, and opened fire at point blank range. If this had been a normal werewolf, the four rounds I delivered rapidly to it’s neck and head would have caused a satisfyingly gorey explosion and been the beginning of a horrible, black, agonizing death. This guy, however, shook his head and jerked back like I had swatted him with a newspaper. I could see the holes in its face closing before my eyes. I had a split second to make a tactical decision. I could either reload my revolver and try to empty another six ineffective rounds into the slobbering death machine, or I could try something that might actually have an effect. Since doing the same thing over and over would be a stupid idea, I opted to try out an entirely different stupid idea.

I reached into my messenger bag and by what can only be described as a miracle, my hand closed around the bottle I was looking for. It was made of a glass so red it was almost black and filled with a liquid to match. The contents were one of my more ill advised alchemical experiments. I chugged the whole bottle in one go just as the werewolf sneezed, a bloody .357 slug  landing beside me. As I was thinking how that might in the running for the grossest thing I’d ever seen, the wolf, regaining its composure, reared back for another strike. 

That was also the exact moment the potion took hold. My eyes turned a fierce crimson and my veins started glowing beneath my skin like magma. I reared back, it’s jaws snapping shut an inch from my face with the force of a piece of construction equipment. I laid a staggering palm strike against its face, sending it reeling to the right. I took a deep breath and exhaled a torrent of fire like hell’s own flamethrower. The sound that escaped with the flames put the werewolf’s previous roar to shame. It was something like the last thing the residents of Pompeii would have heard. My furry new friend screamed in agony as it’s fur burned and its skin charred and roasted. It’s homicidal rage melted away, replaced by primal terror. Its clawed feet scrabbled against the concrete as it wheeled about on all fours and ran for it’s life, still wreathed in flames. 

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 6     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10
Part 11    Part 12    Part 13     Part 14     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17     Part 18     Part 19
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Sharon’s Note: I love writing this couple. Even in non-standard situation, I get to show them getting through it as a couple. For better or worse, through werewolves and zombies, for as long as they both walk the earth, because death is flexible. Warning: Don’t judge people until you know them.

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“Shhh, don’t cry.” Anice tried to sound as soothing as possible, beckoning with one hand. With the other she lifted up the phone and hissed into it, “How much longer till you get here.”

“According to the GPS I’m like five minutes out. I’m going to hang up now. Spend the time trying to get her to calm down. This works a whole lot better if they’re not freaking out. Ok?”

 “Ok.” Anice said, hitting the button to end the call with Jack. Under her breath she muttered, “First I’ve got to get her out of the damn culvert.”

Anice had dealt with bystanders on hunts before. Since the local hunters had allied with the city vampires it had gotten a whole lot easier. Hypnotism was a blessing in the monster Hunter business. Technically she was supposed to call the Master’s office if there was an issue, but Dimitri was on duty as Hunter liaison.

Dimitri wasn’t a bad guy. He was great backup in a fight and knew a plethora of dirty jokes that were old when my great grandmother was born. The problem was Dimitri was a big, scary looking guy who was famous for his lack of patience. Anice was trying to coax a traumatized four year old out of a culvert. She needed a gentler touch, so she’d called Jack.

Getting as low as possible, stomach flat to the dirt, Anice could see the little girl. There was just enough light in the currently abandoned construction sight. She didn’t know where the girl came from, but the poor little thing had let out the most pitiful wail when Anice had beheaded the ghoul and then ran to hide in her little metal rabbit hole. The Hunter had dragged the body out of sight, but she’d yet to convince the little girl to come out.

 Jack pulled up in less than the promised five minutes while Anice was still belly down in the bloody mud. As he got out of the car he was resolutely not laughing at his wife. He crouched down next to her to peer into the pipe. “Haven’t managed to talk her out yet?” 

“No, I put her in there for safe keeping.” Anice snapped, then closed her eyes. She took a deep breath before speaking again. “Sorry, it’s been a long night. No, I haven’t been able to get her out yet. I could probably just grab her and pull her out, but I don’t want to take a chance on hurting her.”

“Well, I’m here, so let my magic eyeballs do all the work.” Anice snorted, but took his hand when he offered to pull her up. Jack took her place on the ground so he could meet the eyes of the little girl. Extending a hand, he sang to her in Welsh. After about a minute of quiet crooning the girl started to scoot out of the culvert, never losing eye contact with Jack.

“You’re going to have to teach me that.” Anice shook her head, but she was smiling.

“As soon as you agree to become a vampire, sure.” Jack maintained a sing-song tone while carefully getting to his knees. If at any point he lost line of sight with the kid, the compulsion would break.

“Not that,” Anice ruffled his hair as he started to rise slowly in mirror to the little girl. “Welsh. It’s such a pretty language.”

“Yeah. Probably best you don’t learn it from me. I learned from my mother and she told me I had a horrible American accent. Go to sleep now, sweetheart.” The little girl had just gotten to her feet and now started to fall backwards. In a blur of motion, Jack caught her and swept her up in a princess carry.

“What now?” Anice picked up a little green flip flop that had fallen off the girl’s foot when Jack had picked her up and put it back on. “I have no idea where the girl lives or who her parents are. Honestly, who lets a kid this young wonder around a construction sight at the edge of town this time of night?”

“I’ll modify her memory and then bring her to a nearby convenience store or something. The cops can take care of finding her family, and that way if CPS needs to get involved they can handle it.” Jack started walking back to his car with Anice following behind. “Although, babe, you know I am always happy to come out and give you a hand, but why didn’t you call the office?”

“Dimitri’s on duty.” She rolled her eyes.

“What’s wrong with Dimitri?” When Anice opened the back door for him, Jack carefully slid the girl in. “You’ve worked with him before and said he was fine.”

“He’s a big scary guy with a short fuse. He’s great if you have to punch a werewolf, not so great if you have to deal with a scared little girl.”

“You’re making some big assumptions.” Jack straightened up to look at his wife. “Dimitri wouldn’t have the liaison position if the Master didn’t think he could handle all sorts of conditions. I’ve known the guys for over a decade and yeah, he likes to punch things, but he’s also great with kids. When he was alive he had seven of them. Three of them girls.”

Anice crossed her arms and resisted the urge to sulk. “Ok, I didn’t know that. Fine. I’ll try to have a little more faith in your boss’s system.”

“That’s all I ask.” Jack gestured to the passenger side door. “Can I give you a lift to wherever you parked your car?”

“Nah. I have to wait here for the Cleaners. It may take a little while to get this all sorted out with them since I moved the body, so I’ll be home late, but should be back before dawn.”

“Ok. I’ll let you know when the girl is safe in police custody. See you later, and I love you.”

“Love you.” Anice leaned forward to kiss her husband goodbye before turning to get back on her phone. She still had a long night ahead.

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James’s Note: We join Daniel as he gets back on the track of our killer, but things don’t go according to plan.

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While I finished up my chores, Damien began chain smoking. I guess he was counting on his wolverine like healing factors to prevent the cancer he was flirting with like it was a busty barista in a low cut metal band t-shirt. I took the opportunity to take a breath and enjoy the quiet, and also to finally check the test vial I had in my pocket, sure it probably had an answer for me by now. 

That is the precise moment my bowels turned to water. I jerked my notebook out of my messenger bag to check the reference chart I kept in there like a good alchemist. Bugger me sideways. I’m not sure if I actually said that, or just made a desolate squeaking noise, but either way, Damien was on me in a second. “What is it, Witcher Man? Do you know what did it?” I spun, grabbing my bag and running for the Mini. “Get your ass in the car, Damien, no time to explain.” 

I guess it was the sudden change in tone that cut through the bullshit, but it was several once again breakneck miles down the rode back into houston before Damien barraged me with questions. I explained to him that, yes, we were going back to the crime scene. Yes, I think I know what the culprit was. No, I wasn’t going to tell him, at least not until I double checked. After all, I was still hoping I was wrong. It could happen. I like mustard and pepper in my oatmeal and think Brad Paisley is a highly underrated artist. I’m wrong all the time. 

We were well into the city proper before he gave up trying to get useful information out of me and instead called his pack leader, presumably to let him know the day hasn’t been completely wasted and that he may soon be free to flee my dubious charms. As we neared the alley behind the restaurant, the power slide that brought us to a halt was some serious Tokyo drift badassery that reminded me why I love my Mini Cooper. I said a sort of non specific prayer that may have qualified as celestial junk mail to any god that might be listening as I dug in my bag. I was looking for my shamble (it’s kind of like a cat’s cradle with a bunch of occult doodads attached) which serves as my final word in magical scanning and analysis. I finally found it at the very bottom (of course), just as a freight train hit my car and the world exploded.

The impact was apocalyptic; like a meteor hitting the earth, except I was the dinosaurs. As the car flipped, time slowed down strangely. Broken pencils, empty bottles and other car flotsam existed in a gravity free environment. A battered paperback copy of the jungle book floated ludicrously in front of my face for what seemed like an eternity. I was idoly wondering how it ended up in the car when the eternity ended and I got smashed in the face by a werewolf. 

You see, I am a studious driver and always wear my seat belt. Damien apparently missed that particular safety lecture, so he become a free floating projectile. His scapula smashed into my nose at approximately mach 2. As my car continued to flip through the air in a most unnatural fashion, the trajectory suddenly changed and Damien was flung through the windshield, skull first, with the most sickening wet crunching noise I’ve ever heard.

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 6     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10
Part 11    Part 12    Part 13     Part 14     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17     Part 18     Part 19
Part 20     Part 21    

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