“God dammit!” Meadows chirps in and slides it into her pocket after checking for herself. Muttering under her breath about cursed witches and damned nightfall, which only serves to make my hackles rise and my skin goosebump all over as the sun edges further down towards the horizon and the air turns cooler for lack of it.
I look up at the sky at the last dregs of fading light and back at the birds and really start to wonder at the likelihood of vampires being out here in this nothing space if darkness comes fully before we get anywhere. It’s looking likely and even though we have nocturnal vision, I would rather have found a haven before they can come lurking out from their holes and crevices to walk the world. I know with my gifts it’s harder for vampires to really take us down and I know Meadow can hold her own, possibly Carmen too although I haven’t witnessed it yet, I would rather not have to fight and battle for survival if we don’t have to.
Three more stops, and we can’t see the truck behind us anymore at all as its so far away and obscured by the trees and rocks we have passed.? This seems to be taking us much further than any location Sierra sent and I’m starting to wonder if this is even right. My gut telling me that we shouldn’t be so trusting, and maybe we shouldn’t keep trying to push forward without an end in sight.
“We should turn back. I don’t like this, and I don’t see an end to where we’re going.” It’s Meadow, verbalizing my exact thoughts, sounding pensive, looking overly alert, and I guess she too is feeling it. Picking up on the empty air, the cold aura of this place, and the suspicion of foreign eyes watching us from all angles. It’s hard to defend when out in the open like this and we have no tactical advantage, especially with only three of us. I turn to her with a stiff expression, my stomach sinking at the thought of coming this far only to now give in. I know it’s what I wanted, what my instincts are screaming at me, but my heart is telling me it’s not the right thing to do. I want Colton home, sooner, not later, and waiting another night seems like an endless eternity. I open my mouth to try and talk this out and am rendered mute as a stranger’s husky brogue echoes around us clearly.
“Well, that would be a shame, seeing as you only just got here.” A female voice startles us from somewhere to the left, sounding almost smug, confident, and so clear and loud it rings through as if spoken right at our ears. We can’t see anyone at all, and we all turn instinctually, claws ripping out and teeth baring as we crowd together back-to-back to make one fierce bubble of wolf aggression. Leaning down, poised, and ready to turn as eyes glow with intention and every red alert signal explodes inside my body.
“Who are you? Who said that?” I call out harshly, my voice laced with a growl as my heart hammers through my chest like a ward rum and a rustle of some nearby bushes alerts us to a dark figure slowly walking into the clearing. We three seem to shift into an almost crawl pose, so ready to fight and take down our intruder, hackles rising, blood pumping and unified in both awareness, alert aggression, and yet heavy wariness.
She steps into view, although shrouded in shadow but I can still make out that she’s wearing a long black cloak, hood up, which is oversized and seems to frame her head in a sinister way. Her entire face and body are concealed in both fabric and shadow, and she stops just within vision to look at us from her bold position. No hint of fear at all.
The largest of the ravens flies over and lands on her outstretched hand when it gets close, revealing a smooth almost youthful skin as it appears from under dark cloth and a slender wrist adorned with bangles and vintage jewelry. In the darkness her pallor is so pale it almost glows like a beacon and we gawp at her in both apprehension and surprise. I figure we all had ideas on what a three-thousand-year-old witch would look like and so far this isn’t it.
“Why, aren’t I the lass you’ve been looking for? So why are you planning on toddling away?” her accent is thick, sing songy, and foreign. I guess Scottish if that’s where Sierra said she was from. It sounds a little rustic, yet warm, and she has a pleasing voice to listen to that pulls you in and intrigues. No hint of any kind of American twang at all and yet she speaks clearly in an almost teasing and clear way.
“Are you Leyanne Cruden?” Meadow queries, even though we both know this can’t be anyone else. Lurking out here with these birds, wearing a stereotypical witch’s cloak and showing face as the moon hits its highest point. She’s spooky and my nerves twang so tight I reckon it won’t take much to snap them fully.
“Depends on who’s asking? Depends on what they want?” she laughs, a low husky and seductive sound, like rolling waves that echo around us eerily and the hint of bold confidence and lack of fear completely unnerves me. She doesn’t seem to care that three highly aggressive wolves are homed in defense, and she is the target.
“I’m Alora Santo, Sierra Santo sent us to find you because we need your help.” I relax my stance and turn my claws and teeth away. Nudging Meadow and Carmen to do the same in a show that we’re not here to harm her. Only Carmen obeys with a sigh and straightens up beside me, while Meds stays in protector mode, sticking to me like glue. I can feel the vibrations from her as she growls under her breath and refuses to relent.
“I know…… there’s not much that goes on around here that I don’t know about. My birds have very good ears. So, welcome, Miss Alora Santo.” She smiles, showing whitest teeth in the hints of her pale face, just barely visible from the shade of her hood and yet it still makes my unsure of her. Every cell in my body is in alert still. Stiff and bristled all over because something in me doesn’t want to trust this stranger yet.
I squint at the crows and recall her words, casting a glance at Meadow, not entirely sure what she means about birds and ears and certain we never once mentioned her around these damned birds. I think she’s maybe a little bit insane, or else she’s making out she knows more than she does.
“So, if you know why we’re here, then I guess we shouldn’t beat around the bush and ask if you will help.” It feels kind of rude to invade her territory and blurt it out, but it’s put me completely off kilter having her seem to know who we are and seem so smug about it. She’s not exactly welcoming and so far, she seems to like indirect answers and word play. It doesn’t really signal a friendly soul.
“It’s getting late.” She points out, ignoring my question completely. In fact, acting like I haven’t spoken, and instead looks to the sky with a sigh. I still can’t make out anything about her features other than she seems to have a youthfulness to her. It’s hard to put a finger on it, more than seeing her hand, but I get the vibes she is not that much older than Sierra, physically. Mid-thirties at most. I’ve heard all about witches using anti-aging seduction, masking appearances to lure, and means to pull in innocents to trust them… or was that sirens? I forget. The books down under the house have so many supernatural species and I don’t recall which sometimes, or what ones we should never be drawn in by. Either way, her presence is giving me the heeby jeebies.
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