Family Business

Rob Cornell

Copyright © 2016 Rob Cornell.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictions and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Want More Sebastian Light?

About the Author

Read More from Rob Cornell

One

My Ministry license to collect bounties on demons and other rogue creatures was so freshly printed I could practically feel the residual heat in my back pocket from the runic symbols magically seared onto the parchment. I had slipped the rough paper out of my wallet and marveled at it a few times already. I had no idea what, exactly, the runes meant, except that I could kill demons the Ministry deemed as threats and collect money in the process.

How cool was that, right?

I was twenty five. My first job involved trying to tail a kid on a bike. Back then I drove this ancient Ford Escort, which made following someone on a bike through a quiet suburb a bit of a trick.

It was the middle of May, but the kid wore a down parka with a fur-lined hood, which obscured his face. A knapsack with Detroit Free Press stamped on the side hung from his shoulder. To any passer-by, he looked like a paperboy. The disguise seemed to work, even though paperboys were all but extinct as far as I knew. Nowadays, some sleepy-eyed, coffee-sipping adult cruised down the middle of the street, tossing papers out the car windows and barely landing them beyond the curb.

But I had good reason to suspect this kid wasn’t hauling newspapers. And that he wasn’t even a kid.

Frazier Fleischhacker was a goblin accused of dealing fairy dust in rock form to mortal clientele. Which was bad. The Ministry seriously frowned on what we called “breaking the wall,” which meant crossing the metaphorical boundary between the supernatural world and those who had no idea things like vampires, shifters, and goblins existed.

But breaking the wall didn’t get you a death sentence. Getting three mortals killed from an overdose of fairy dust you illegally dealt them, then proceeding to dodge a Ministry summons to stand trial? That would do the trick.

Lucky for me, it meant a pretty big bounty, too. If I snagged this goblin, I could trade in my Escort for a less beaten beater.

I sat at the corner of the block, my car’s engine rattling like a tin can full of loose screws. I’d had to replace the carburetor twice on the damn thing, and I had a bad feeling the transmission was about to go. Another good reason to take up demon hunting—I could finally afford a new car before this one fell apart around me.

The “kid” rode away from me, down the sidewalk, traveling the full length of the block without making a single stop or tossing a single rolled copy of the Free Press. I knew a lot of people got their news on the internet these days, but not a single subscriber on this quiet suburban street?

Nice try, buddy.

When he reached the end of the block, I crept forward and turned down the parallel street. This was one of those mass-produced suburbs built on a convenient grid pattern with the occasional cul-de-sac. Made tailing the faux paperboy a little easier.

I pulled up to the next intersection, barely touching the gas pedal, and stopped a couple car lengths before reaching the cross street. I could see around the gray-bricked ranch style house on the corner just enough to watch for the kid to come around the far end of the street. He had done this up one street and down the other thing three times already and hadn’t yet stopped at a single house. I assumed it was a maneuver to keep up appearances. Show any glancing neighbors a paperboy going about his business, nothing to see here, carry on.

This time he finally stopped, about three-quarters of the way down the block. He looked from side to side as if checking for witnesses. Then he pedaled across the street and up the driveway of a two-story colonial with a front lawn that looked a couple of weeks past due for a mow.

The kid left his bike on its side in the driveway and scurried up to the porch. He clutched the knapsack to his chest, only releasing one arm long enough to rap on the door.

Whoever was inside must have been expecting him, because the door opened five seconds after the knock. A woman with short, tight curls poked her head out. The kid marched into the house as if he owned the place.

Like a groundhog spotting her shadow, the woman jerked back inside and swung the door shut.

Decision time. I didn’t know how many deliveries he had on his agenda, nor how many he’d already completed before I caught up with him. For all I knew, this one was his last. I couldn’t take him out in the open—not without breaking the wall myself.

At the same time, trying to take him in the house could prove tricky. I wasn’t worried about breaking the wall with the woman inside. That damage had already been done. But I still hadn’t confirmed one-hundred percent this was Fleischhacker, or a goblin at all.

If I dithered too long, it wouldn’t matter either way. I could lose this bounty if I didn’t make a move soon.

To hell with it.

I cut the Escort’s engine—which made a hollow chuff before it quit—and got out.

I instantly breathed in the smell of mown grass. The spring air carried a warm, dry touch. The breeze felt great as it made my cotton shirt ripple against my chest. A yippy breed of dog was on a steady barking streak in a nearby backyard.

I took the sidewalk up to the house, trying to act casual. Although, if these people hadn’t wondered about a paperboy who wore a parka in warm weather and never actually delivered any papers, I probably didn’t have to worry about drawing attention to myself.

A weather-blanched statue of the Virgin Mary stood tucked between a pair of shrubs in front of the house. On my way up, I wasted a second admiring the kid’s candy apple Schwinn that looked a couple weeks shy of brand new. For a paperboy who only delivered to one person every three blocks or so, he could afford a pretty sweet ride.

An idea popped in my head that made me grin like a mad villain.

I let the air out of his tires. For good measure, I put the nozzle caps into my pocket.

That done, I followed the cement driveway into the backyard. Hordes of dandelions choked the grass. On the patio, a metal-framed porch swing sported a green awning as faded as Mary’s blue robes out front. The swing’s cushions had water stains on them. Aside from a few terracotta pots full of dirt but no plants, and the weeds growing out of cracks in the concrete, nothing else occupied the patio. Made me wonder how long the woman inside had been hooked on the dust. Neglect had left her home a little shaggy around the edges.

I crossed to the back door and pounded on it. “Police! Open up.” Then I cocked my head and listened.

I heard panicked scuffling and low voices. Then silence.

I laughed quietly to myself. They were really going to pretend they weren’t in there? When in the history of the world had that ever worked on anyone but a Jehovah’s Witness?

I pounded again. “We know you’re in there. Open up or we’ll break down your back door.”

I hoped I hadn’t telegraphed my move too much with my specificity on which door I threatened to breech.

No need to worry. Ten seconds later I heard the front door fling open.

I sprinted around the house in time to see the goblin struggling to pick up his bike while the hastily slung knapsack on his shoulder kept slipping in his way. In his rush out the door, he had also forgotten to pull up his hood. I saw the gnarled, branchlike nose. The greenish-gray skin. The solid black eyes.

Fleischhacker.

I stood between the woman’s and her neighbor’s houses, not completely out of sight, but guarded enough I was willing to take a chance. I held my hand out at my side, palm up, and drew on my magical energy. My skin grew warm as I bent the element of fire to my will. A bright orange flame ignited from my palm. Its heat made the air around it ripple.

I knew some hunters liked to say something pithy before taking down a bounty, like offering a proclamation of the bounty’s guilt or something like that. I guess it gave them a sense of authority. Thankfully, such nonsense was not required by the Ministry. So I just said, “Boo-ya,” and tossed a fireball at the goblin.

His gaze jerked up as the flaming bolt sailed straight for his face. Right before it reached him, he pressed a finger against his hooked nose. The fireball veered to the right, sailed around his head, then boomeranged back at me.

I ducked and felt the heat of the blazing comet streak over me, but I had managed to dodge it.

The Honda parked in the driveway behind me? Not so much.

The fireball blasted through the car’s rear windshield and set the interior alight. The smell of burning upholstery soon followed. The flaming car had distracted me long enough for Fleischhacker to finally get on his bike. He struggled to pedal away. The bike wobbled, nearly pitched sideways, but he put one stubby leg down to keep him upright. He looked down at his flattened tires and growled.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

He glared over his shoulder at me, black eyes shining, thin lips pulled back from his pointed teeth.

I lit up my hand again. The smoke and noise from the burning car would bring unwanted attention right quick. Time to end this.

But that little prick pushed his finger against the side of his nose again, puckered his lips, and blew.

The fire in my hand went out.

I stared dumbly at my empty palm. “What the fuck?”

The goblin snickered and gave me a wink. Then he pulled one more trick with his little nose gesture, magically re-inflating his bike tires.

I tried to pull up more fire, but he had somehow literally extinguished my ability. Stunned, I just stood and watched him ride away.

Until I heard the sirens. Then I got the hell out of there.

Two

My grandfather, Eldred Light, lived on three wooded acres in Ann Arbor. His house looked like a log cabin on the outside. Inside, it had the usual amenities of most homes. The kitchen had shiny stainless steel appliances, and there was a stone fireplace in the family room. Age had worn much of the furniture—especially Grandpa’s favorite rocker, its oak seat polished to a cloudy brown from repeated use.

I loved the scent of ginger and cinnamon that infused the whole house, the ghost of Grandma’s baking still clinging two years after she passed away. After the death of his beloved wife, Grandpa had slowed down a lot. It took him five minutes to answer my knock. But for a six-hundred forty-nine year old widower, that was pretty good.

He smiled through his long white beard when he saw me. The sadness never left his eyes, though. He wore a blue bathrobe with a few popped seams and striped pajamas underneath. Since he seldom went out, he didn’t feel the need to dress up. Not that he didn’t (or couldn’t) care for himself. He kept his beard clean, what remained of his hair brushed, and his clothes washed. But when he dressed for the day, it was always pj's and his robe.

We hugged, then he ushered me into the family room. It wasn’t cool out, but he had the fire going and all the windows shut up. The stuffiness pressed in on me, and I quickly started to sweat.

“You need to open some windows,” I said while he eased into his rocker with a soft groan.

He waved his hand weakly. “It’s fine, it’s fine.”

An old-fashioned wingback chair faced the fire near Grandpa’s rocker. That used to be Grandma’s usual seat. I had distinct memories of her reading The Tale of Peter Rabbit to me while I sat on the floor beside her chair and stared into the fire. I had always loved fire, even back then.

I sat on the edge of her chair. “I need your help.”

His gaze drifted to the mantle above the fireplace which displayed a collection of family photos, one of Grandma prominent in the middle. He chuckled softly, but again, the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “What can an old man like me do for a virile young man like yourself?”

“It’s for work,” I said.

He turned his gaze on me and raised a fuzzy eyebrow. “You’re working now?”

“I’ve barely started, but yes. And it’s a job you have some experience with.”

His lips parted. He stared at me for several seconds. “Tell me you’re joking.”

I shrugged. “I thought you’d approve.”

“It isn’t my approval you have to worry about.”

The fire snapped like a whip as it reached some sap on one of the logs, then it settled back into a steady crackle.

I ducked my head. “I have a right to choose my own profession.”

“Of course you do.” He smoothed his robe across his lap. “But you haven’t told them yet, have you?”

“You know how they’ll react.”

His sad eyes stared straight through to my soul. “You don’t think they have a right to know?”

“I haven’t even collected my first bounty. I figured I’d hold off telling them until I was sure the job was right for me.”

He snorted, shook his head. “You’re a terrible liar. Not even you believe that.”

“What am I supposed to do? They’re a couple of stuffy scholars. They won’t understand.”

Grandpa leaned toward me. His rocker creaked under him. “You do realize your father was raised by a demon hunter.”

I let out a short laugh. “That’s why I’m here.”

“And that’s why...” He settled back with a sigh and started rocking. “...your father became a stuffy scholar, and why he married one, for that matter. He’s seen up close what hunting does to a man.”

“Grandma never seemed to mind.”

His gaze returned to the central photograph on the mantle. “That’s because she chose me as I was. She knew what she was getting into. But we can’t pick our own parents. And I know there were times Walter wished he could have. He certainly wouldn’t have picked me.”

Wow. I knew Dad seriously hated what Grandpa had done for a living, but I never got the sense that Dad resented him for it. I put a hand on Grandpa’s arm. “That isn’t true. He loves you.”

He gently bobbed his head. “But not all of me.” Then he clamped his hand down over mine. Despite the shut up windows and the fire, his thin, papery skin felt cold. He squeezed my hand with surprising strength. “You should reconsider this path.”

The suggestion didn’t give me second thoughts. It did the opposite, making me want to dig my heels in and declare that this was my life, damn it, and I wouldn’t let my dad’s issues with his father dictate my own choices. I think my grandfather saw as much.

He relaxed his grip and slid his hand off of mine. Then he laced his fingers together and rested his hands in his lap. “How can I help?”

A charge ran through me. I sat up straight. “I need to track down a goblin I’m after. I had him this afternoon, but he slipped me.”

Grandpa’s mouth curled up on one side. “I should say. Goblin magic is a tricky thing.”

I looked down at my right hand, the one Fleischhacker had blown out like a candle. On the hour drive to Ann Arbor, I had tested drawing flame in that hand several times. Thankfully, the ability had come back. Whatever the goblin had done to me had only worked temporarily. I’d been a little freaked there for a while. I could not imagine losing access to my power.

“Yeah,” I said. “Tricky.”

“How did you find him the first time?”

“Old fashioned way. The rumor mill and knocking on doors.”

He nodded his approval. “I assume, now that he knows you’re onto him, that way won’t work again.”

“Definitely not.”

He stroked his beard and hummed, his eyes focusing on some faraway place. I had him intrigued. The old hunter was still in him. “I know a few ways to track someone, but most require something from the target. A strand of hair. A prized possession. I once used a dirty sock.”

I dug into my pocket and brought out the nozzle caps to Fleischhacker’s bike tires. I held them out in my palm for Grandpa to see. “These are from a bike he was riding. Looked like he took good care of it. Might qualify as a prized possession.”

One bushy eyebrow went up. He peered at the caps like a scientist observing a specimen. “A bicycle? And he got away from you?”

I felt my cheeks flush. “He fought dirty,” I said. “And we were too exposed for me to go after him.”

He reached for the caps. I noticed his fingers trembling, and it took him a few seconds to pick the caps up. Once he had them, he brought them to his nose and sniffed. He broke into a wide smile, and this time it reached his eyes, obscuring his chronic sadness. “These should work. Who knew a bicycle could be so important to a goblin?”

“He uses it to make his living,” I said.

“Doing what?”

“Delivering rocked fairy dust to suburbanites. He’s posing as a paperboy to make his rounds.”

“And the Ministry wants him executed for this?”

“Three of his customers have OD’d.”

“Ah.” He closed his fingers around the caps. “And why is it you can’t work a spell on these to find him?”

Again, my face went hot. “I flunked small magic.”

“Small, huh? I bet that drives your father bonkers.”

Ha. Bonkers. Who said that anymore? I nodded. “Bonkers indeed.”

“You need to buckle down, Sebastian. There’s no such—”

“—thing as small magic. Dad got that phrase from you, huh?”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Let’s put this spell together. We can work in the kitchen. I’ll show you small magic.”

Three

Despite his trembling hands, Grandpa threw the spell together in fifteen minutes. When he was done, he handed me a small juice glass, empty except for the two caps. He had covered the top of the glass with plastic wrap and put a rubber band around it to hold the plastic in place.

Inside the glass, the rubber caps jittered and crawled up and down the glass like a pair of trapped insects.

“They want to get back to their owner,” Grandpa said. “Follow where they want to go, and you’ll find your goblin.”

“Nice,” I said. “And a little weird.”

I thanked him and promised to call him with an update on how it went. I could still sense the excitement from him, though the spell (however “small”) had worn him out a little. His hands shook more, and he kept his eyes pinched as if struggling to hide pain.

I drove back toward Detroit with the glass on the passenger seat. The caps clinked around inside, apparently wanting to break out and fly back to Fleischhacker. I had watched Grandpa work the spell—the mumbled incantation, the burning sage, the pulse of his magic as he enchanted the caps—but I didn’t understand it, even when he tried to explain it to me. Subtle magic, he’d said, requires a subtle hand, a light touch. That lack of subtlety is the only thing holding you back. You can’t spend the rest of your life casting fire and wind.

I could do more than that. With the help of potions and trinkets anyway. I had to admit, it bothered me a little that I couldn’t get small magic to work. I knew the moves, knew the words, knew the mechanics.

In other words, there was something wrong with me, not the spells.

It took me a while to get the hang of following the caps’ lead while driving. But when I found myself circling a block in another suburb not far from where Fleischhacker had been making his deliveries, I knew I was close enough to continue on foot.

This neighborhood looked newer than the last—the houses larger, the yards smaller, and the space between homes a whole lot narrower.

With the glass in hand, I strolled down the sidewalk, keeping an eye on which direction the caps fidgeted. Eventually, they led me to a two-story house with a brick facade and vinyl siding. The lawn was neatly mowed, the shrubs recently trimmed. While the color of bricks was an earthy brown, the front door was painted bright yellow. An odd choice, but it did give the place a cheery highlight.

I stood there a moment. The caps knocked frantically against the glass right toward the house’s front door. The place looked way too...normal...for a goblin’s home.

I pulled the plastic wrap off the top of the glass and tipped the opening toward the house. The caps shot out like a pair of angry bees. They moved so quickly, I lost sight of them until I heard them tick against the yellow door. From the sidewalk they really did look like a couple of black bugs. They futilely twisted and jigged to get through the barrier between them and their owner.

What an awesome trick, Grandpa.

Maybe someday I’d pick it up.

The yards here weren’t fenced off, probably because that would reveal how small the lots really were. One yard blended into the next, the most distinguishing feature among them the size and shape of their back decks. And every deck seemed to have a gas grill the size of a compact car.

The stairs up to Fleischhacker’s back deck creaked under my feet. A sliding glass door led directly into a dining room. Peering in, I could make out a small, round table with four matching shellacked chairs, and a bowl of fruit in the center. Judging from the brown spots on the bananas, the fruit was real instead of that weird wax stuff.  A marble counter sectioned off the kitchen from the dining room.

The whole setup looked terribly mundane. Not at all like where I imagined a goblin would live. Maybe the caps had it wrong. Or maybe this was another customer’s house—though I hadn’t seen his bike out front.

I decided to trust Grandpa’s magic. Just had to figure out a way to get at Fleischhacker before he could touch his damn nose.

I tested the glass door. It slid open a few inches when I pressed at the handle. It rolled easily on its tracks, barely making a sound.

I was about to push the door open wide enough to slip through when a woman entered the kitchen. Not just any woman. A pregnant one. Her belly stuck out with at least nine months worth of baby inside, making her white, sleeveless summer dress drape wide from her porcelain legs. She had long black hair and a heart-shaped face only a little puffy from baby weight. She was damn pretty, too.

I jerked back, pressing against the wall beside the cracked door. If she glanced over, she would likely notice the door open. She might come over to investigate, then catch me standing there like an amateur cat burglar (instead of an amateur demon hunter).

Time to split?

This couldn’t be the right place. Not with a pregnant woman in there.

Then I heard her laugh, a hearty one with a musical lilt. She said something I couldn’t make out. Another voice answered, low and growly. A weird impossibility struck me. I had to take a peek, no matter the risk of getting caught. I eased forward and titled my head just far enough to see inside.

I almost shit myself.

The woman was down on her knees, bringing her eyes level to Fleischhacker’s, who stood before her, hooked nose, pointy-toothed grin, and all. But this didn’t stop her from softly kissing him on his grayish lips, the passion between them unmistakable.

Had I stepped into the Twilight Zone or something? All the weirdness of the paranormal world shrank to a mere oddity compared to what I saw going on in that kitchen.

Another crazy thought hit me.

Was the baby his?

I had heard about human and supernatural relationships. Of course. But I pictured shifters or even vampires—things that could look human under normal circumstances. Not...goblins.

My shock had made me forget about stealth. I had unconsciously moved further out from the wall to openly stare at them. When they finished their kiss, Fleischhacker spotted me from the corner of his eye and whirled to face me. After seeing the tender moment he had shared with the pregnant woman, the fear in his eyes made me feel a little guilty.

But I couldn’t let my emotions get in the way of my job. He was still responsible for the deaths of three mortals. I had to stay professional. Had to push out any thoughts about what the woman would think when I immolated the father of her child. Or how that child would always wonder about what happened to their father because her mother couldn’t bear tell them the truth.

Get that shit out of your head, Sebastian.

Fleischhacker’s surprise melted quicker than my moral haggling. He brought his finger up to his nose. I had only a second to wonder what hex he might throw my way. I didn’t waste that second wondering, though. I twisted away from the glass door just in time.

The glass exploded outward with a sound like crashing cymbals. Shards sprayed across the deck like spilled diamonds. One small piece cut my cheek.

I should have jagged away from the wall and thrown a fireball in through the smashed slider. But I kept seeing the woman on her knees, the kiss, the way her pregnant belly pressed against her squat lover. And he had hugged that belly, hadn’t he? Had run his hands along the sides with a loving touch. A proud father-to-be.

I couldn’t make myself do it. I just couldn’t.

Instead of marching in on the attack, I held my hands out so they could see them. “Wait,” I shouted. “Truce.”

A moment of silence followed. A couple of robins bickered on the branch of a nearby maple. A lawn mower growled in the distance. Twilight had started to fade in. I could smell the flowers in a hanging basket a couple feet away from my head.

“Frazier, don’t,” I heard the woman say.

He responded with a gurgled sigh. “Go away,” Fleischhacker said. “Then I won’t have to hurt you.”

The next words came out of my mouth all on their own without any thought on my part. “There will be others hunting you,” I said. “If I can find you, so can they.”

“So what?”

Yeah, Mr. Light. So what?

I gritted my teeth. I could not believe what I was thinking. It went against every oath I had sworn to get my license. I had yet to collect on a bounty, and here I was, contemplating not only letting my first contract go, but...

“I can help you.”

Four

That earned me another long silence. I still had my hands out in plain view, but they were getting tired. As a show of good faith, I stepped away from the wall, glass crunching under my boots, and stood in the open, facing them through the frame of the shattered door.

The woman had gotten to her feet. She stood twice as tall as Fleischhacker. An inappropriate curiosity about the physical mechanics of their relationship crossed my mind. I pushed it back before I started imagining possibilities.

Fleischhacker had his small fists clenched at his sides. He wore a plaid shirt over a pair of jeans and a pair of sneakers, all probably purchased from the kids’ section. Despite his goblin features, his attire made him look almost normal. Especially in such domestic surroundings.

“Why would you want to help us?” he asked.

The woman absently ran her fingers through his curly black hair. Otherwise, she remained rigid, and her eyes shined with fear.

I decided to go with the honesty policy. “Frankly, I don’t know. I guess I’m not cold-hearted enough to kill you in front of your pregnant...wife?”

“Yes,” he snapped. “Wife.” He took a few short steps forward and tilted his head while studying me. “That still doesn’t explain why you want to help. Or even what you could do to help.”

Another good point. What the hell did I think I could do for them that they hadn’t already tried themselves?

“I...I don’t know.”

“What do you know, you little twat?”

The woman whapped him on the back of his head. “Frazier.”

He ducked his head. “Sorry, dear.”

“I think we should hear him out,” she said.

Fleischhacker glowered, but he nodded. “Take your boots off and leave them on the mat.”

To one side of the entryway lay a rubber mat with a collection of shoes and boots lined up against the wall. “Seriously?”

He pointed at the floor of the dining room. “You see that carpet? It’s brand new. Leave your boots on the mat.”

I stepped inside and did as instructed. Fleischhacker and his wife led me in my stocking feet into the living room. This room looked as normal as the dining room. Modern furnishings, some framed abstracts on the walls, more spotless carpeting. An incense burner sat on an end table by the TV, the wisp of smoke rising from it filling the room with woodsy scent.

The woman offered me her hand. “I’m Carrie.”

I took her hand. Her skin was soft and warm. “Sebastian.”

Fleischhacker and Carrie sat on a loveseat that had the legs removed so it sat lower to the floor. Carrie’s knees bent up a little, while Fleischhacker’s feet touched the floor evenly.

I took a seat in a puffy leather armchair which threatened to swallow me if I leaned back. I doubted Fleischhacker spent any time in it.

“Why haven’t you moved away?” I asked right off the bat.

Fleischhacker scowled. “When the housing market crashed, we ended up with a house worth half of what we owed on it. And when Carrie tried to take maternity leave from her job, they figured out a legal way to fire her. Some horseshit about restructuring.” He made air quotes when he said that last word. “We can’t afford to move. And with the baby almost here...” He threw up his hands. “The medical bills aren’t going to pay themselves.”

“How have you dodged the Ministry for this long?”

“They didn’t put open season on me until a few days ago. I thought I was being careful enough. But you still managed to find me.”

“Others will, too.” I looked him straight in his solid black eyes. I doubted I saw the same thing in them that Carrie did. Love truly was blind. “Your financial issues. Is that why you’re dealing the dust?”

He held out a hand to stop me, but the question was already out of my mouth.

Carrie turned a quizzical eye toward her husband.

Uh oh. I guess the wife hadn’t known about her hubby’s little side job.

“What’s he talking about?”

I shrunk back from the immediate tension that bloomed between them. Nothing worse than getting stuck as a witness to a domestic squabble.

Fleischhacker fumbled for words while he gazed around the room as if one of the walls might have the right thing to say painted on it. Without a straight answer coming from him, Carrie did the worst possible thing I could have imagined at that moment.

She turned to me.

“What are you talking about? Dealing? Dust?”

Okay, there was something worse than witnessing a tiff between lovers—getting dragged into the middle of it. “I...uh...I don’t think it’s my place to say.”

Her cheeks turned a soft pink. She blasted me with a glare that would have made an ogre tremble in his oversized boots. I hunched my shoulders up, wishing I could pull my head in like a turtle and wait for this painful awkwardness to blow over.

No such luck.

“Don’t give me that,” she said. “You said you wanted to help us. Start by telling me the truth. If you can’t do that, you’re no help at all.”

“Carebear,” Fleischhacker said in a small voice. “It’s really nothing.”

She smacked his knee. “Shut up. Sebastian is trying to talk.”

I am?

Her pointed look spurred me on. I gave Fleischhacker an apologetic shrug. “Your husband is selling fairy dust to mortals. There’s this Ministry that governs—”

“I know all about the Ministry. And I know they’ve sent out people like you to murder him.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “And your husband didn’t tell you why?”

He lowered his gaze and cringed.

“He told me,” Carrie went on, “that he’d been wrongly accused of using magic in a public place.”

I frowned. “That sort of thing doesn’t warrant a death sentence. The Ministry put a bounty on him because his reckless dust dealing resulted in three mortal deaths.”

Carrie looked back and forth between us. “Is this true?”

The goblin sneered in a crooked way only a goblin could. “No. No one I’ve sold to has died. I delivered to all my buyers just today.”

“Then why is the Ministry claiming otherwise?” I asked.

“Because they’re lying!” His cheeks turned more green than gray. “In their eyes, we’ve broken the wall in the worst way. But their laws, such as they are, won’t permit them to kill us outright.”

“I find that really hard to believe.”

“That’s because you’re a young, naive dolt.”

I let the insult roll off. There were plenty of political machinations to the Ministry I didn’t understand. And I’d heard Dad complain about them. But what Fleischhacker claimed seemed... What? Farfetched? I only had to look at my nation’s history to know the heights bigotry could reach.

“So you’re dealing the dust to fund an escape.”

He gave a sullen nod.

“What on earth are you thinking?” Carrie shouted and whapped his arm with the back of her hand.

“I was desperate. I am desperate.” He looked up at his wife with pleading eyes. “If we don’t get out of here soon they’re going to find us. They’ll...” He rested his small hand on Carrie’s swollen belly.

I frowned. “No one is going to hurt your child,” I said. “The contract is on you alone.”

He snorted and waved a hand at me. “I’m not talking about your stupid lot.”

“Then who?”

He folded his arms and turned his face away from me. With the kids’ clothes, he looked a lot like a spoiled kid getting his first real scolding.

Carrie watched her husband for a handful of seconds, then she shook her head and turned to me. “There’s this group,” she said. “They call themselves Purifiers.”

She didn’t have to say more. I could figure out the rest myself. Apparently the paranormal world had its own version of the KKK.

“You need to get out of here,” I said. “Now.”

Fleischhacker rolled his eyes. “We know that, idiot. But like I told you, we—”

“There has to be somewhere you can go.” The desperation in my voice startled me. Here I’d gone from wanting to turn Fleischhacker into a wick, and now I found myself invested in saving his life. I looked at Carrie’s belly.

Not just his life.

Carrie said, “Neither of us have family to go to. Our friends are here, so going to them would only put them in danger without making us any safer.”

I hung my head and pinched the bridge of my nose. I wanted to help them, but I couldn’t think of anything I could offer. I didn’t have any money to loan them. Of course, if I killed Fleischhacker, I’d have a nice chunk of change. How was that for irony? Anyway, one contract’s payout wouldn’t last long enough to get them in the clear.

“Well, we can’t hang around here much longer. There’ll be more hunters coming for you, and I doubt many of them will care what your family situation is.”

Carrie’s eyebrows drew together. “Where will we go?”

Another stupid idea popped into my brainless head.

“I know someone who can help.”

Fleischhacker sneered. “Who?”

“Someone who’s been in this business a lot longer than I have.”

Five

While the Fleischhackers gathered some things to take with them, I put my boots back on, headed out the front door to get my car, and nearly got an arrow punched through my eye. It hit the doorframe instead, but only about a foot to my left. The thwack sound it made sent my heart into my throat. I jerked to the side and glanced out toward the street to see where the hell it had come from.

Twilight had settled in and night wasn't far behind. There weren't any streetlights on this stretch of street so plenty of shadows crawled in under the maples and oaks planted in various front yards.

But I could see the small car that looked like a shoebox with wheels, and the gleam of someone’s eyes in the driver's seat staring out at me.

I also saw a glint of what remained of the daylight on something metallic inside the window.

"Hey," I shouted.

The door popped open and a little waif of a girl stepped out. She was dressed in a pair of white high top sneakers, a frilly black skirt, and torn black nylons underneath. Her shirt looked like a spatter of random colors on a black background, as if Jackson Pollock had collaborated with someone puking paint. She had an Asian cast to her wide face and a sharp pointed chin. A lot of black makeup, too.

But the whole look wouldn't have been complete without the crossbow held at her side.

"Who the fuck are you?" she asked.

I stammered, heartbeat still out of control from the shock of nearly getting my skull skewered. "Who the fuck are you?" I threw back like a grammar school kid on the playground.

She snorted like that was the dumbest question in the whole wide world. Then she crossed the street. I took an instinctive step back. The girl couldn't have been much older than twenty. Maybe she could get into bars, but she sure as heck couldn't rent a car. Yet she had a hell of a presence. Even from halfway across the street, I could feel it press closer as she closed in.

I reached back and absently drew the door shut.

When she stepped up the curb, she jerked her chin at the house. "What were you doing in there?"

It didn't take long for me to figure out who this girl was. Or, rather, what she was. Another hunter. And she had sniffed the trail to the Fleischhackers’ house same as me.

"I was taking care of business," I blurted. Great. I was speaking in cheesy song lyrics. What an interesting stress reaction.

She raised one of her dark eyebrows. "Business, huh?"

“Yep,” I said. "You know. Hunting stuff."

"Stuff?"

I felt my face flush. I was sounding like a total dork. I needed to get rid of this girl, damn it.

"Yes," I said with some force—maybe too much. I swallowed, tried to straighten my expression as much as possible, showing her how serious I was. "Goblins, to be specific. That ring a bell with you?"

"You're really a hunter?"

"Sure am."

She shook her head. "They'll give anyone a license these days."

I let out a short, derisive laugh. "You're what? Twenty?"

"Twenty three," she snapped. I noticed her hand tighten on the grip of her crossbow.

I felt a headache coming on just thinking about one of those arrows lodged through my eye. "Well, you're no old lady. So you can't use the whole 'these days' thing."

Her lip curled.

"I've been hunting since I was sixteen," she said.

"Wow," I said with a ring of sarcasm. But I really was impressed. I couldn't imagine being a kid, a mortal one at that, chasing after demons and other kinds of creeps. As the son of sorcerers, I'd grown up knowing about this stuff, which made it a little less traumatizing.

She rolled her eyes and started her approach again.

I stepped off the porch to meet her in the center of the front lawn. She tried to sidestep me, but I slid in her way. I held out my hand. "My name's Sebastian."

"Good for you," She dodged left, then zagged right, managing to get around me. She was damn quick.

I turned around and put as much boredom in my voice as possible.

"He's already dead.”

She stopped, looked over her shoulder. "You put down a goblin?"

I shrugged. "So hard to believe?"

"Kinda."

"Well, I am glad I can disappoint you on that score. Fleischhacker is a charred lump of nothing."

She turned all the way to face me. "You got the remains?"

Oops. I'd forgotten about that part. You had to turn in some remains to the Ministry as proof of the kill. "Yeah, I'm going to get my car so I can bring the goods out without drawing suspicion."

Her brow furrowed. "Why? Not like you need a big piece. A hand, couple of fingers maybe. They can tell from that if you did the work. Which I'm getting the feeling you didn't."

I laughed, and I knew it didn't sound convincing. "I'm new at this," I said.

"Obviously."

"Point is, I thought I needed more than that. Thanks for the tip. I guess I can go back in there now and get it."

One corner of her mouth curled up in the evilest of evil smirks. She kind of looked like she was about to eat me.

"No worries," she said. "I'll go in and get it for you."

I held up my hands. "Totally not necessary."

"You're a terrible liar."

I guess Grandpa had been right about that.

She turned on her heel and headed for the front door. I took a few steps after her, but she reached the porch well before I could reach her. She raised her crossbow and reached for the door handle.

"Hey," I shouted. I pulled on my magical energy, focusing on the air, drawing it together in front of me in a sort of mini hurricane. Nothing too crazy, but enough to feel the breeze blow my hair back and chill my skin like an October night.

She ignored me.

Left me with no choice.

I solidified the ball of air, creating an invisible pocket of wind with the heft of a large stone. I hurled it straight at her head.

She jerked forward on impact. Her head collided with the brick facade. She bounced backward, stayed on her feet for a couple seconds, then pitched backward off the porch. Thankfully, she dropped onto the soft grass and not the cement approach. I didn't want to crack her skull open, just knock her out long enough for me to get the Fleischhackers the hell out of there.

I rushed over to her. She still gripped her crossbow, as if her hand had gone into premature rigor mortis. I grabbed her under the arms and dragged her behind the shrubs.

I jogged to my Escort, drove it back, and pulled into the Fleischhackers’ driveway.

Carrie stood just inside the door when I came in. "Who was that girl?"

"She was here to put an arrow or two into your husband. Another bounty hunter."

Her face paled.

I gave her arm a squeeze. “It’s going to be okay. Where's Frazier?"

"Here." He came down from the second floor lugging a suitcase nearly as big as him. He didn't show any sign of struggle as he carried it down, though.

"We're not coming back here, are we?" Carrie asked.

Frazier took his wife's hand. “We’ll be fine.”

I reached out to Frazier. "Let me take that.”

He looked like he wanted to object, but he handed the suitcase over without grumbling.

I carried it out to the car, leaving the two of them to give their home one last glance before I led them to an uncertain future.

Six

If circumstances had been less serious, the expression on my grandfather's face would have cracked me up. He stood in the doorway, staring at me and my new companions, his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide. He might as well have been looking at a pig in a tutu.

"Hey, Gramps," I said.

"Sebastian?"

Just my name, but it stood in for the twenty-million questions probably rattling through his brain.

"Can we come in?"

He swallowed, seemed to come to an internal decision, and nodded.

We filed into the living room. Grandpa still had the fire going, though it didn't feel as stuffy as before. Then I noticed the window looking out at the back of the wooded property was cracked a few inches.

That was a big step for Grandpa. I wondered if my visit to him had perked him up a bit. He wore a different set of pajama bottoms that looked slightly less pajama-y. They could have been light cotton pants now that I thought of it.

Hmm.

Maybe I needed to come by more often.

The four of us stood awkwardly in the center of the living room while the fire crackled and made shadows quiver across the ornately woven Persian rug under our feet.

"Please," Grandpa said. He gestured to the available seating—Grandma's chair and the two-person loveseat with patches over spots time and use had worn thin.

The Fleischhackers took the love seat, I sat on Grandma's wingback again, and Grandpa settled into his rocker. It rocked back once, but he planted his slippered feet on the floor to stop it.

He turned his pointed gaze my way.

Time for the pitch.

First thing I did was introduce the couple. Grandpa received them graciously, but his back remained stiff through the whole affair. Unlike me, he didn't seem the least bit surprised the goblin and human were married. Nor did he flinch at the fact that Carrie was carrying Frazier's child.

"Why did you bring them here?" he asked.

"Mr. Fleischhacker here is...was...the goblin the Ministry put a contract on."

"I gathered that."

I gulped down my embarrassment and went on.

"I don't think the Ministry has the facts straight on this one.”

Grandpa raised his gray brows. The wrinkles around his eyes smoothed, and the way the firelight struck his face, he looked a decade or two younger—which wasn't much when you were over six-hundred, but still noticeable. There was a gleam in his eye, too. As if he were...enjoying this?

It was damn hard getting a read on him at that moment.

"You think the Ministry has made a mistake?"

I squirmed in my chair. I got the sense he was testing me, and my answer here would make or break his willingness to help.

I looked at the couple. Frazier was his usual dower self. But the flame's glow complimented Carrie's fair complexion. She really was a stunning woman.

"Yeah," I said. "They've got this one wrong."

"Why do you think so?"

"You don't?" I held a hand out toward them. "Look at them. They're in love. It's freakin' obvious."

Grandpa shrugged. "That doesn't mean Mr. Fleischhacker here isn't guilty of the charges."

Frazier hopped off the sofa, his sneakered feet thumping on the hardwood through the rug. "The charges are bull and you know it, old wizard. I know you know it."

Grandpa broke into a full-on belly laugh. "I'm no wizard," he said. "And you know that, too."

Frazier shrugged and, I couldn’t believe it, actually cracked a smile. "Sorcerer didn't have the same ring to it."

I looked back and forth between them, wondering if I hadn't missed my stop on the train down to crazy town.

"Nice to see you two getting along,” I said slowly. “Does that mean you're going to help, Grandpa?"

Grandpa held up a finger. "If I may have a moment with my grandson in private?"

"Of course,” Carrie said. Frazier climbed back up on the sofa and snuggled in close to her. She took his small hand in hers.

With a creaky grunt, Grandpa rose from the rocker and beckoned me to follow him into the kitchen.

He took me by the elbow and guided me to the far side, over by the stainless steel sink that looked perfectly clean except for the layer of dust on the spigot and knobs.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked.

I glanced at the entryway to the kitchen as if I thought the Fleischhackers might have snuck up behind us to listen in.

"Are you?" I asked. "I hardly explained a thing, but you two sounded like old friends."

“Do you trust him?"

I hesitated. “I hardly know him.”

"If you go through with helping this couple, and if the Ministry were to find out, it could spell disaster for you."

I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. "I'd lose my license before I ever had a chance to use it."

"You could lose more than that. You are aiding a supernatural fugitive. One the Ministry deems fit for execution."

"He says none of his customers died. That the Ministry made that part up or something. I don't know why they'd do that, but I believe him that none of his buyers were hurt."

Grandpa stroked his beard. He took a while before he spoke next, and I waited him out because I could see the wheels turning.

“The Ministry is a political machine like any other. If you want to keep doing their work, you have to accept the flaws in that machine."

A sour taste filled my mouth. "I know the Ministry isn't perfect, but are you saying they're corrupt?"

"I'm saying they aren’t a force to be trifled with. There will be only so many times you can defy them before you end up in the same position as Mr. Fleischhacker."

For the first time, I doubted my newly chosen profession. For the gods’ sake, I had just started, and already I found myself flirting with the Ministry’s bad side. I tried to swallow the knot tied in my throat without much success.

"So, I'll ask again,” he said. “Are you sure you want to do this?"

Despite Grandpa’s clear warnings, I didn’t have to think before I answered. “Yes.”

Grandpa appraised me, his scrutiny a little uncomfortable. “Why?”

Again, I didn’t hesitate. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Then he smiled. He clapped me on the shoulder. "I think you'll do very well in this business."

I smiled back. I felt like we were kindred spirits. I looked forward to a lot more conversations in front of his fire.

We rejoined the Fleischhackers. "There are many, many others in a similar position as yours. Mortals and supernatural beings persecuted for choices the mainstream looks down on. This is nothing new, of course. Creatures both mortal and paranormal will always judge those different than they. But this also happens to work in our favor."

The doubtful look on Frazier's face could have mirrored my own.

"Not seeing the silver lining here, old man,” the goblin grumbled.

"The silver lining is that this epidemic of bigotry has forced some to create a life outside of that bigotry’s distasteful eye."

"Grandpa," I said slowly. "You kind of sound like Yoda, but with better grammar."

Carrie laughed.

"There is a place where Carrie and Frazier can go and live a life without fear, in a community that will welcome them."

Frazier frowned. "Sounds like a load of hellhound crap."

"A little pie in the sky, I admit," Grandpa said. "But it's no less real. And I know someone who can take you there. Finances won't be an issue. Think of it as a refugee camp, but with superior accommodations."

I saw Frazier tense up, a defiance in his eyes, a natural distrust of something that sounded too good to be true.

Carrie brushed at his temple with the back of her hand, which seemed to relax him.

I stood up and clapped my hands. "Sounds awesome. Let's do this.”

Frazier looked up at his wife. Their silent exchange spoke volumes. I hoped I could someday look at a woman like that, and have her look back at me the same way.

Carrie nodded. "I believe," she whispered.

Frazier smiled. "That's what I love so much about you." He turned to me. "I guess you were right."

"About what?"

"You can help us.”

“Don’t get too sappy on me, or I might have to give you a hu—”

"Quiet," Grandpa whispered with such command the three of us all but stopped breathing.  “Someone's here."

"Who?" I asked.

Grandpa closed his eyes. "Six of them. All werewolves."

Frazier clenched his wife's hand, and a shadow of fear crossed his gray-green face.

"Purifiers."

Seven

I ran to the front window and snapped on the porch light. The light’s yellow cast didn’t reach more than fifteen yards or so out from the house, and the woods encircling the property held shadows thick enough to hide almost anything.

Grandpa rushed down the hall and out of view. I looked back at Carrie and Frazier. They stood embracing, Frazier’s arms encircling Carrie around the hips. Frazier had a darker version of his usual glower with a clear shot of fear in his black eyes. Carrie absently rubbed her belly with one hand.

“Werewolves?” I asked.

Carrie nodded.

“They’re like a task force for the Purifiers. Brutal.” Frazier jerked his chin toward the window. “They’ll rip us apart.”

“Not while I’m here they won’t.”

Grandpa came back out, this time holding a shotgun and a gleaming sword with a silver blade. He marched toward the couple and held the shotgun out to Carrie. “You know how to shoot one of these?”

She grabbed the shotgun from him without hesitation. “Yes.”

“Good.” Grandpa swung the sword in a lazy circle at his side. He looked awfully comfortable with it. He nodded at me. “You got your big magic ready?”

I focused and pushed my energy down my arms and into my hands. “Ready.”

A second later a terrible series of howls, yips, and cries cut through the night outside. The sound set my teeth on edge.

Grandpa sniffed. “Those are my protection spells. I can practically smell the singed dog fur. But depending how determined they are, they’ll eventually wear out the magic. Nothing out there is going to kill them, I’m afraid.” He did that lazy loop motion with the sword again, rolling his wrist with graceful ease. Even in his pajamas and robe, and with his long white beard and thinning hair, that sword made him look like a total badass. It gave me a glimpse into his past, back when he had hunted the nasties.

He smiled and gave me a wink.

The cries outside stopped suddenly. The silence felt oppressive in the wake of the tortured clamor.

We all stood frozen, exchanging glances, waiting for whatever would come next. I thought about looking out the window again, but I never got the chance.

The window facing the back, the one Grandpa had finally cracked open, exploded inward, a werewolf bursting in through the shattered glass and splintered window frame. Werewolves basically looked like giant regular wolves who walked on their hind legs, had bigger teeth, intense yellow eyes, and claws with six-inch nails that gleamed like metal in the moonlight.

The wolf landed on the floor and didn’t hesitate in its charge. It crouched low, about to spring forward.

The shotgun went off with an ear-ringing roar. The wolf took the shot in the face. The buckshot ripped away patches of its furry mug and knocked loose some of its teeth. It yelped and danced backward with the force of the shot. But the shotgun had a standard load. Not silver. Which meant the wolf would easily recover. Which it did.

It reared on Carrie with murderous anger in its eyes, the expression made all the more horrifying by its bloody and ravaged face.

Another crash came from down the hall in one of the bedrooms.

Grandpa rushed down the hall in the direction of the sound. I called out to him, but he never looked back. And we still had a wolf to deal with in the living room.

Carrie pumped the shotgun and leveled the barrel at the wolf as it crept toward her.

I glanced at the fire, smirked. “Save the ammo,” I said, then I reached out toward the cracking fire and pulled on the flames with my magic, drawing them like a blazing curtain over the wolf. It screeched as its fur caught fire. It bucked and writhed as the smell of cooking flesh rode the smoke coming off of the beast.

In its struggles, it stumbled backward toward the window it had jumped through and caught the curtains on fire. Then it thumped to the floor and lit up the rug as well.

Frazier pressed his finger against his nose and blew like he had when he’d extinguished the fire I’d held in my hand, which felt like a million years ago. Each puff of his breath blew away the flames the burning wolf was spreading until it finally fell still and lay smoking on the floor.

I heard Grandpa cry out from down the hall. I ran back there without thinking, operating on instinct and a sudden burst of adrenaline. I charged into his bedroom and found him leaning against a wooden chest at the foot of his bed. He sat with the sword in one hand and the other hand clutching at the side of his face. Blood oozed between his fingers.

I rushed to his side. “Grandpa?”

“I’m fine. Better than him.” He pointed the sword at a beheaded werewolf sprawled on the floor, its neck pumping blood into the carpet.

“Nice.” I reached out and took Grandpa’s arm, helped him to his feet. He looked about ready to swoon. I held tight and he steadied himself.

A thunderous boom rang out from the front of the house along with the sound of cracking wood. They had breached the front door.

Grandpa and I bolted down the hall.

Three more weres rushed in through the broken door and went right for Frazier and Carrie. Frazier pressed his finger to his nose and one of the trio flew right back out the door as if yanked by an invisible wire tied around its waist. Its howl trailed away with him.

One of the remaining pair of wolves leapt forward and pounced onto Frazier, knocking the goblin onto his back.

Frazier cried out as the wolf landed on top of him and clawed into his shoulders.

The third werewolf didn’t have a chance to follow suit. Carrie fired the shotgun. The load of buckshot hit the wolf square in the chest. It staggered a few paces back, but kept its feet.

It was stunned long enough for me to take a shot at him. I gathered the air around the silver sword in grandpa’s hand and, with a focused torrent, yanked the sword from Grandpa’s grip and sent it straight through the werewolf’s back, the sword’s bloody point sticking out through the wolf’s chest. It threw its head back, but its outcry turned to a gargle as blood filled its throat. It staggered for a moment, then dropped dead in front of the fireplace.

The wolf on Frazier snapped at the goblin’s throat, but Frazier gripped the wolf’s ears like a pair of handle bars and held it back. I wouldn’t have believed the goblin’s short arms could resist the strength of a werewolf if I hadn’t seen it for myself. I gained a new respect for all of goblin kind.

Carrie had the shotgun aimed at the wolf, but she hesitated, clearly uncertain she could shoot the wolf without also injuring her husband. Finally she took the gun by the barrel and swung it like a bat.

The stock cracked on impact with the wolf’s head. The blow might as well have been a tap on its shoulder, because all it did was get its attention. The wolf snarled and backhanded Carrie, knocking her to the floor.

Frazier let loose a sound worthy of the most frightening creatures of the dark. He used the momentary distraction Carrie had provided to press his finger against the side of his crooked nose.

In a blink, something about the wolf changed. It happened so quickly it took my brain a second to process.

The wet slap against the ceiling. The red spray off the wolf’s whole body. The sight of blood-slick musculature.

Gods be damned, the goblin had stripped the wolf of its pelt, which was what had hit the ceiling. All of its skin had come off like a zippered coat and now lay in a rubbery clump on the floor.

A hot glop of bile burned its way up the back of my throat.

The skinned wolf reared its head back and bayed. The pain must have been unbearable. The wolf rolled off of Frazier and curled up in a fetal position, whimpering. With enough time, it could have conceivably grown its skin back. It probably wouldn’t die without additional help. Which made it all the more horrible to think about.

Despite my rolling stomach, I couldn’t look away.

Which meant I had my back to the door. Which gave the wolf Frazier had thrown outside the opportunity to pounce me. I felt its claws dig in just under my shoulder blades. I opened my mouth to scream, but the impact with the floor and the weight of the wolf on top of me squeezed the air out of my lungs.

From the corner of my eye I saw Grandpa raise his arms in the air. He bellowed something in a language I didn’t know.

A swirling wind whooshed through the room with enough force to blow out the fireplace. The wind had an icy bite I could feel even with the wolf’s body heat pressing down on my back. The spell drew the wolf’s attention, sparing me from a huge bite to the back of my neck.

The cyclone picked up tremendous speed in a matter of seconds. Then Grandpa threw his raised arms down, and the wind lifted the wolf off my back and straight through the wall separating the living room from the kitchen. The hole it left behind was large enough for someone to step through. Pieces of the drywall crumbled to the floor and kicked up chalky dust. A pair of broken studs hung down like stalactites.

I could see the wolf through the hole, up against the stainless steel refrigerator that now had a werewolf-sized dent in the door. The wolf’s jaw hung open, its tongue lolling out its mouth.

Grandpa trudged over to the wolf I’d shish-kababed with the sword. He grabbed the hilt in one hand and braced his foot against the wolf’s back. With a wet sluice, he pulled the sword loose.

I pushed myself up onto my knees, wincing at the pain through my back from the wolf’s claws. I watched Grandpa, his jaw set, blood running down the side of his face where he had earned his own claw marks. He ducked through the hole in the wall and stepped up to the wolf, who was already shaking off the cobwebs from its trip through the wall. It had a chance to look up at my grandfather, then Grandpa jammed the sword straight through the wolf’s face, splitting its canine snout in half.

The wolf kicked its clawed feet and seized for a couple seconds, then fell still.

Once again, Grandpa yanked the sword loose.

I watched this man in awe as he came out of the kitchen with a stony expression and an angry gleam in his eyes. He stepped over to Frazier and helped the goblin get to his feet. He held the sword out to Frazier.

Frazier looked into Grandpa’s eyes for a moment. Something unspoken seemed to pass between them. Frazier took the sword, strode over to the skinned wolf, and thrust the silver blade through its heart. The wolf didn’t yelp or whimper, but rather sighed like a deflating tire.

Frazier stepped around the wolf without giving it another glance and went over to Carrie. Carrie propped herself up on one elbow and reached up to her husband to stroke his cheek. Frazier cupped his hand over hers and held it against his face.

“I’m okay,” she said. “We’re okay.”

The goblin exhaled a shaky breath. Then he turned to me. He opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind, and nodded instead.

I returned the nod.

Then I looked to my grandfather. With the fire out, the shadows obscured the details of his expression, but I felt a different energy emanating from him. I knew I was looking at a changed man.

Eight

After a night of burning werewolf bodies in Grandpa’s back field, I took the Fleischhackers to the bus station. Grandpa had made a call to his contact, and the whole thing was arranged with surprising speed. I found myself a little bummed they had to leave so quickly. I’d grown fond of the couple. Probably a product of our having shared a traumatic experience together. But the feeling was real enough.

I even think Frazier had warmed up to me, though he wouldn’t admit it.

Carrie hugged me, then climbed onto the bus. Frazier had a blue hoodie on with the hood up. He appraised me for a moment, then said, “Take care of my bike,” and got onto the bus.

I shook my head and laughed.

That was the last I ever saw or heard from Mr. and Mrs. Fleischhacker.

I headed back to Grandpa’s. That swipe across his face from the wolf and the large amount of magical energy he had put into his cyclone spell had taken a lot out of him. I wanted to make sure he was okay.

When I arrived and didn’t see any sign of him in the house, the skin on the back of my neck prickled and I felt a pit in my stomach.

A cool spring breeze cut through the usually stuffy house. Some of that came from the shattered window and lack of a front door. But he had opened a couple of intact windows as well. He hadn’t relit the fire. And his rocker...

It was missing.

I found him on the back porch. He had brought his rocker out there and now stared toward the tree line at the back of his property. A trail of smoke rose from the charred lump of werewolves at the edge of the clearing

As nice as the spring breeze felt that morning, it was coming out of the east and carrying the smell of cooked wolf with it.

Grandpa rocked steadily, the floorboards of the porch groaning in a steady rhythm.

I nearly choked when I saw he was fully dressed. And not just dressed, but dressed. He wore a tan suit and a polka dot bowtie.

“What’s the occasion?” I asked.

He raised a hand, which held the framed photo of Grandma from the mantle. “Family reunion.”

I wrinkled my nose, not sure what he was talking about.

He turned to face me, and I saw the still raw claw marks across his face. They oozed with pus and were bright with infection.

“Why haven’t you healed that? You’re going to get gangrene or something.”

He slowly shook his head. He leaned forward and tried to stand, but he couldn’t make it and dropped back into the chair with a heavy groan. One flap of his coat pulled away from his belly, revealing a thick, wet red stain on his shirt.

My stomach clenched. I pointed at the blood stain. “What is that?”

“That wolf,” he said and grimaced. “Got more than my face.”

In all the chaos of the night, I had somehow missed this other wound. Worse still, he had failed to tell me about it.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I knew you would...” He clenched his jaw and hissed through his teeth. “You’d probably tell your parents, or take me to that apothecary friend of theirs. You’d try to save me.”

“You’re damn right. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

He grasped my wrist with a strength that belied his clammy, pale face. “You won’t.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my time,” he said. He squeezed my wrist harder. “It’s my time.”

I sighed. What little energy I had hung onto to keep me from passing out with exhaustion leaked out of me. I slowly lowered to my knees beside his chair. “I can’t talk you out of this.”

He shook his head. His gaze went down to the photograph. “It’s my time,” he said again.

A silence fell between us. The call of a sand hill crane echoed in the distance. The breeze cooled the moisture in my eyes and made my eyelids feel sticky. Finally, I said, “You were awesome last night.”

He laughed, but had to cut it short to keep from breaking into a coughing fit. It was more than his wounds wearing him down. He had pulled a large chunk of power together to create a wind strong enough to shoot that werewolf through a wall. He probably hadn’t worked a spell like that in decades. Maybe longer. It had cracked his already damaged soul.

And without the will to live pressing him on, he could not recover.

“You weren’t so bad yourself.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t do much magic.”

He looked me in the eye. “No, but you did the right thing. And sometimes that’s harder than casting the biggest of spells.”

After that, we didn’t say more. I held his hand and let a little magic flow from me to him. I couldn’t heal him, but I could make him a little more comfortable. The moment was so serene, I didn’t notice when he passed. I thought I would have felt the life go out of him through the magical connection I had established to ease his pain. But the man had been so full of life, it had carried on a little longer after him.

I stood, kissed his cold cheek, then went to call my parents and let them know we had lost another Light.

Want More Sebastian Light?

Read the first novel in the Unturned series here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01H4B76HW

About the Author

Whether it's a covert-ops team of vampire assassins or a greedy dragon who lives under Detroit's MGM Grand Casino, most of Rob Cornell's stories feature some element of the dark and fantastic. He has written over a dozen published novels, including two urban fantasy sagas—The Lockman Chronicles and the Unturned series. He also penned the fifth installment in the Linger series of supernatural thrillers published by Braun Haus Media, writing as Edward Fallon. A native of the Detroit area, he spent a handful of years living in both Los Angeles and Chicago before returning to the Midwest, and currently lives with his family in Southeast Michigan.

Read More from Rob Cornell

http://amazon.com/author/robcornell