Crimson Luna

Rory and her books sat at the rivers’ edge. The cold mountain water numbed her toes, but much like the uncertainty nature gave, she didn’t mind. Hooded in her crimson cloak and letting the hem of her skirt dampen by the river, she turned a weathered page.

A rustle in the pines came, after the inspection of a protection boundary cast. She slammed the book closed, whipped around and scanned the thicket.

Nothing.

Rory’s heart determined otherwise and sped at the looming sensation of eyes. Staying watchful of the trees she gathered her books, sliding them in her rattan backpack—handwoven by her grandmother. The sound of twigs snapping brought her to freeze. She narrowed her eyes, searching.

There.

He approached slow at first. Once he noticed he’d been spotted, he strode out of the wood. His clothes were faded by the sun. Cargo’s that once were green had turned a dim grey. A worn brown yellowing ringed the collar of his white thermal, he wore under a black tee.

He nodded to her with a half-smile, “hey.”

Rory stood, slipping her pack over a shoulder, unsure of him.

His smile was playful. And he was undeniably handsome, but not in the conventional way like the boys in town. He had a rugged look, holding a young man’s facial shadow. Worn by the sun, the elements clear on his cheeks. A travelers face.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said as his leather boots reached the round rocks.

His light brown hair glistened to almost blond in the late sun, and it wisped in wide curls, in need of a haircut. His coffee eyes were on her waiting, along with that lighthearted smile.

Rory brushed red flyaway hairs from her cheek and listened to the whispers in the air. The ones that made her a ‘freak’ in school up until the end of senior year.

“It’s alright,” she said not hearing a warning, but a song. She cocked her head at the sweetness of the hymn he brought the wind to sing, “I was just leaving.” Rory headed for the tree line, the safety of home on her mind.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

She turned around and his gaze locked onto her’s.

“I saw you…” his smile reappeared, “what you reading?” he gestured to her pack.

There was something in his stare that called to her. A pull. Rory took a step back, “I should go, before dark.”

October brought the moon to rise sooner and grandma always said to head home before it rose.

He took a step closer, raising a brow, “alone?” Another step, “it gets dark quick. I can walk you.”

“I got it,” Rory said leaving in a hurry.

Something was off about him, but Rory wasn’t sticking around to discover what. Not with nightfall so near. There were things in the wood. Good things, but also very terrible things. Things that masqueraded in skins not their own. And she’d never see that boy before.

But why did the whispers sing?

***

             “C’mon, Rory.” Matt the ex-famous high school football star leaned his elbows on the counter. “I was always nice to you, yeah?”

            She raised a red brow, searching his perfect face.

            “I mean you look so cute in that apron, I just had to ask.”

            Rory was in the last hour of her shift at Café Bleu, when Matt felt inclined to saunter in with his posse, asking her to the October bonfire. A yearly bustle the youth of their small town held.

            She slid his iced mocha latte over, “no.”

            “What?” he straightened from the counter and took the latte. “No one’s gonna make fun of you Rory. We’re not in high school anymore.” He took a sip from the straw. “It was shitty what those bitches did to you.” He shook his head, “I never condoned that fire crotch shit.”

            He may not have condoned it, but he didn’t do a thing to stop it either. High school was torture for Rory, mocked for her pale skin and bright red hair; a rarity in a town of one thousand. There was also the reputation of her mother—local floosy, her drunk stepfather and the stories about her grandmother. The old woman who lived in the woods—witch.

            She took in a breath, “next.”

            Matt gave her a grin mid-sip, “Okay, Okay. You think about it.”

***

Rory shouldered her woven backpack, as she scanned the Café’s bulletin covered in missing pet posters. She frowned at the news reports, discoveries of mauled animals found along the roads outlining the wood. She’d been keeping an eye on the reports that had increased that week. The whispers told her something was coming, something hungry, starving.

  She left the Café digesting the buzzing news the patron’s discussed that day. Walking her bike along the sidewalk toward home, she considered the suspicions spoken about a newcomer.  A strange young man wandering town. He visited the library, the convenient store, and Mary from the deli said he didn’t have enough money for a sandwich. She’d let him have it—her Christian deed for the year.

Rory didn’t get six feet from the Café when she heard her name. It was Matt, jogging over from the pharmacy next door.

“You know without all that childish noise from school, I’m realizing you were always pretty,” he said catching up.

She wanted the interaction to end, his sudden interest in her filled her with disgust. If she hadn’t vowed to grandma not to cast with harm, she’d yield him with sickness. Grandma always cautioned her about casting. “The eyes will follow, and you don’t want to be seen by those glares, Red.” 

“Go away,” she warned and started toward home.

He rushed in front of her, capturing her handlebars. His hands over hers. “Rory,” his voice turned to what he thought sounded seductive, “I wasn’t kidding. I really do like you.”

Her heart sped. Not from excitement of his words, but angry annoyance. She drilled her eyes into his. Heat rose from her center and she pushed it into her limbs. Matt narrowed his stare on her as her hands grew warmer under his. A heat she planned to gradually strengthen until it spawned blisters in his palms.

An interruption saved him, “I don’t think she likes you.”

Concentration lost, they turned to the voice. It was him, the boy from the wood. He was squat down on the top of the brick partition that separated the cemetery from the sidewalk. His backpack was gone, and he was still in his cargo’s but sporting a blue t-shirt unlike the day before. That playful smirk decorated his face and his mocha eyes were on Matt.

The football champ shifted his gaze to Rory, but she was fixed on the boy.

“You’re that kid,” Matt said with a nod.

He chuckled, “kid?” then leapt off the partition landing on the concrete with no hint of stumbling.

Rory sized him up as he stepped closer.

“Why are you here?” Matt asked, moving away from her bike, freeing her. “To make trouble?”

The Cafe's patrons slowly peek through the glass door—curious about the commotion. Attention Rory did not appreciate, dangerous stirrings of a small town.

The traveler kept his playful smile, “Just passing through. But looks like you’re the one meddling for trouble.”

Matt confronted him, but doubt flashed across his blue stare, standing before the newcomer who was almost two inches taller.

“Hey!” Mr. Bernard, the Café owner called from the door. “What’s going on? Rory?”

Rory brought herself to stand taller, and flashed him a nervous smile, “nothing.” She waved at him, “everything’s fine, Mr. Bernard.”

“Mm, I don’t know about that,” Matt said suddenly feeling braver with the town watching.

Two officers joined Mr. Bernard out the door with stern glances on the traveler, who’s attention was still on Matt. They nodded to her, ready to show the newcomer who was the law in this town. “He bothering you, Rory?”

It was a surprise to see the sudden concern the town had for her, after being ostracized her whole life. She felt herself shrink under their eyes. “No, no.” Rory gripped at the traveler’s shirt and tugged him with a harsh whisper, “follow me.” She flashed the onlookers a shy smile, “no trouble.”

She walked her bike along and he followed keeping an eye on Matt a moment longer before looking straight ahead.

“You should be more careful,” she said under her breath, still feeling the town’s glares on their backs. “Small towns make troublemakers disappear.”

“Is that what happened to you?”

She looked up at him.

His attention was ahead, “Rory.”

She frowned, “I didn’t disappear.”

He stopped and faced her, “no, you just hide in the wood.” The smirk reappeared.

“Who are you?”

He held out a hand, “Clayton.”

She slid her gaze to his offering, then back to his bright eyes. Rory took it. His grip radiated with warmth, and Rory noticed the roughness of a well worked hand. A breeze picked up, carrying with it the whispers. A song with words once lost that he somehow resurrected by his presence.

“Have we met before?” he asked still holding to her hand.

She shook her head.

“Strange,” he chuckled, “I feel like we have.”

Rory reluctantly left the warmth of his shake, “I doubt it. I’ve lived here my whole life.”

“Sorry.”

She smiled and led them down the sidewalk, “tell me about it.”

He slipped his hands in his pockets, “What that prick want anyway?”

“To get me to come to the bonfire tonight.”

His head lifted, “Oh, yeah. I heard people talking about that at the library. Sounds like a big deal around here.”

Rory shrugged, “It can be. Anyone with a life goes.”

He glanced at her, “in your wood?”

She liked the ownership he proposed. “Houndstooth trail. The fire is held at the trail head. Folks don’t really go into the wood.”

“You do.”

“So do you.” She scanned his amused stare, “the party stays at the tree line. The dark of the wood keeps people away. Stories about shadows, bring them to the edge but never inside.”

“I’m used to the dark,” his brows rose, “the sound of shadows doesn’t scare me anymore.”

Rory stopped before crossing the street ahead and inspected his face, “you stayed overnight?”

“I did.”

They crossed, passing a small white church. “You need to be careful in there, Clayton. Something’s been killing wildlife and pets—”

“and leaving them on the side of the roads,” he finished.

She gave him a side eye, “yes. Shredded, torn apart.”

“Everyone’s talking about it,” he nodded. “There were noises in the wood last night.”

Her eyes narrowed, “what kind of noises?”

He shrugged, “hard to describe. But maybe with tonight’s party. All the rowdy sex hormone crazed bodies will bring it out.” He eyed her, “you goin?”

They neared her stepfather’s land, resembling a junk yard. Old trashed automobiles came into view as they tracked up the hill. “My grandma said never enter the wood during plena luna.”

He smiled, “during the full moon.”

She nodded with a suspicious stare regarding his Latin translation, “whatever it is, I won’t be there when it shows up.”

“I may stop by.”

She shot him a glance.

“The townies might be more welcoming after a few beers.”

Her voice rang with panic for him, “or more prone to stupidity against an outsider.”

She stopped at the junk entrance and couldn’t comprehend her worry for him. A stranger from nowhere. “You shouldn’t stay in the wood tonight. And you most definitely shouldn’t go to that party Clayton.” Her heart sped up at the thought of whatever lurked in the shadows tearing him apart, or the towns people talking small town pride too far against that unbothered smile of his.

And there it was, the playful innocence across his lips. He gestured to the run-down home, “this you?”

She looked the yard and old home over, shame filling her chest and nodded.

“Good to know,” he winked and stepped backwards. “I’ll see you around Rory,” flashed her one last smile and headed back to town.

***

In jeans and her favorite Metallica t-shirt, Rory sat cross legged under the aged oak tree at the back of her stepfather’s property. The light of four white pillar candles illuminated her face as she whispered a chant for guidance.

She was torn with thoughts about Clayton til the moon rose. And she was tempted in going to the party to make sure he was okay. The full moon was in the sky, and grandma’s warning was becoming more distant as the time grew closer for the bonfire to begin.

There was something in the wood. Something that was not there before, and Clayton was sleeping under its eye. She shook her head, frowning, whispering—searching for answers.

The breeze came, and the words followed. The oak spoke, robust and Earthy, move.

She shot her eyes open, her stomach twisted, it was coming.

***

            The bonfire was ragging, music blared from an old pick up truck with booming base. The trail head was littered with the youth of the town—the twenty something’s. Rory pushed off her bike. Her heart pounding, unsure of what the night was to unravel.

            She leaned her bike against the trail pole fencing and searched the crowd, uneasy. Pulling her long black cardigan tighter around herself for comfort as the stares came her way. The girls’ who’s spent their whole lives making her’s hell on Earth and sizing glances from the young men now free to consider her attractive.

            She lodged the tip of her thumb nail between her front teeth, biting with her search. Walking the perimeter of loud flirty conversations, Clayton was no where in sight. Had he changed his mind to reason? Secretly she hoped he’d be there. She couldn’t get his luring coffee stare out of her mind. Even now the image of his bright eyes came as she fiddled with the protective pentagram closet to her neck.

            The choker was a precaution. She’d also drawn the Algiz Norse ruin under her left wrist with ash before heading out. And summoned Sources energy into her core, in anticipation of what plena luna had in store.

            She took a seat on an empty log closets to the tree line and hugged herself. Her eyes caught sight of Matt, red solo cup in hand, standing by the music truck, laughing hysterically. She tried to shrink herself from view, hiding behind the flames.

            “Hey, Red,” his voice came from behind her.

            Red.

            The nickname, only her grandmother used, brought her to her feet, to meet him.

            Clayton stood a foot from the trees with that side smile, holding two bottle neck Coors.

            Rory frowned. He was so silent, not there, then suddenly he was.

            His brows rose, “I’m glad you came.”

            “Where’d you come from?”

            He chuckled, pivoting a gesture to the brush behind him, “back there.” Clayton offered her one of the Coors.

            “I’m not twenty-one.”

            “I don’t think half the people here are.”

            She cocked her head, “nineteen.”

            He smiled, “I’ll be twenty-one for the both of us then.”

            Rory took the offering, and he tilted his bottle up toward Matt’s direction, “in case you're interested in that guy. He’s really been trying his hand on that group of blondes over there.” He used his Coors to point out her enemies.

            She raised a brow and took a swig of the surprisingly refreshing beer, “I’m not.”

            He took a drink, the bottle barely touching his lips. “Good to know.” He stepped closer, “I got a sweet spot, where we can watch these assholes make fools of themselves.”

            Rory pressed her lips together trying to hid a smile.

            “Wanna see?”

            She looked at the people who went out of their way to make her feel like an outsider. They danced, grinding against one another, laughing with lust in their glances. She turned back to his waiting stare, “sure.”

***

            Clayton led the way through the brush, “What made you change your mind?”

            “I don’t know,” she lied.

            He brought them to a small creek off the Houndstooth trail, where bright silhouettes of the bonfire ran between the gaps of trees. Leaning against a boulder where his pack laid, he smiled, “was it the whispers?”

            Rory’s body stilled.

            He chuckled, took a drink, keeping his gaze on her. Clayton set the beer down, pushed off the rock and stepped closer. Their eyes locked. His voice turned low, “can you sense it coming?”

            Her lips parted, “yes.”

            A bone chilling howl broke in the distance. In the thick of the trees on the other side of the creek. Fear crawled up her spine, urging her to run.

            Clayton whispered, “don’t let it know you’re afraid.”

            Her face creased and her heart pounded against her chest. It was coming.

            A snap of branches.

            Her lips trembled.

            “It’s coming for them,” he nodded to the bonfire. “Noisy. No respect for what lies in the dark. For what they can’t see.” His eyebrows rose, “but we see.”

            “W—” Rory tried to asked but felt the haste of the beast sprinting through the trees. She saw it, heavy paws pounding the leave scattered ground, stiff fur brushing along branches. It was fast and thirsty for warm blood. Bright yellow eyes, ringed in orange and red. Teeth, coated in saliva and infection. It was hungry, tired of skimpy creatures, from the wood; ready for ripe human flesh. The plena luna rising an insatiable appetite.

            When her eyes adjusted back to the present dark. Clayton was facing the howls.

            Rory looked through the trees at the bonfire, music blared, no one heard the beast’s calls. She backed away, chest heaving, as breath tired to calm her trembling body.

            Yellow eyes broke through the trees.

            Rory’s stare turned wide, “Clayton?”

            Against the blackness of the distance the beast was invisible, only eyes hinted it was charging for Clayton.

            “Clayton!” Rory tried again, backing away but not wanting to leave him.

            She rushed for cover in the trees as the beast leapt over the creek. In the glow of the bonfire Rory saw the creature clearly. Long lanky limbs, short stiff black hair, and enormous head of a type of wolf Rory had never seen before. Three times the size of Clayton. Bared salivating teeth snarled back as it lurched forward.

            With a stern look, Clayton stood his ground, “Dis,” he commanded. A circle of gold light, exited his chest, expanding until it met the creature, pushing it over the creek. It landed on its back stun.

            The beast flipped to all fours and roared at Clayton.

            That smile rose to his lips. He lifted a hand—middle, ring finger, and thumb forming a downward circle, fore finger and pinky held stiff like horns—to his chest. He spoke the word, “Hasta,” as he rotated the symbol to the sky and swung it toward the beast, launching gold spikes.

            The creature scrambled into the darkness, avoiding the attack. The gold spikes embedded into the trees and rocks, before dissolving to dust; absorbed by the surface beneath them.

            “It’ll be back.” Clayton bent over for his beer and took a drink. He shifted a glance to her.

            Rory, was flat on her ass, gripping at the brush surrounding her, eyes wide, breathing fast. Her own Coors tipped over, creating a puddle around her black boots.

            He smiled, “you good?”

            All Rory could do was stare at him. Her brain was working hard trying to process what had just happened.

            Clayton walked over and extended a hand. “I know. It’s shocking at first, to see them.”

            She took his hand; it was hotter than the first time she’d taken it. A heated vibration that instantly calmed her trembling nerves. Blinking she scanned his face in the moonlight. “Lycan?”

            He shook his head, “werewolf.” His thumb slid down the back of her hand as he slowly released her. “Animals. Mindless urges.” He turned back to the thick wood, “I’ve been tracking him. Thought I lost ‘em.” He shifted a glance to her, “then I felt you.” Clayton redirected his gaze to the trees, “a welcomed distraction that led me right where I needed to be.” A smile, “Source at its finest.”

            “You here to kill it?” Rory stepped beside him, scanning the wood, extending, trying to feel where the beast ran off to.

            “Yes.”

            “All that worry was in vain then.”

            “Worry?” he turned to her; eyes gleaming. “You worried about me?”

            Her face warmed and she looked away, “maybe.”

            He chuckled, kicked back the rest of his beer; then walked to his bag. And stuffed the empty bottle inside, “do you cast?”

            Rory suddenly became nervous. After seeing what he was capable of, she had nothing to say. Even grandma didn’t demonstrate that kind of power. She shook her head, “I’m not very good at it.”

            A breath of amusement left his noise, “no need to be modest with me.” He shouldered his pack.

            “Really,” she hiked her shoulders, “small wishes for better grades back in high school. Glamour’s to hide time, when I’m late.” She brushed her long red bangs back, “nothing serious.”

            Clayton stepped closer, “I could feel you two towns away, Red.” His coffee stare drew her in, a connection that felt certain. “Your more powerful than you think.”

            “Grandma said—”

            “Well, look who showed up.” Matt’s voice came from the brush near the bonfire.

            Rory internally groaned, “go away, Matt.”

            “Oh, and look who you brought along, eh.” Matt staggered onto the rocks with his posse of three guys.

His friends spoke almost in unison, “fresh meat.”

            Matt continued with a drunk grin, “what kinda weird shit you doin out here, huh?” He reached Rory and his sour beer breath hit her as he spoke, “spooky witch shit.” He glanced at Clayton who looked amused, “did she tell you.” Matt pointed a fore finger at Rory, “sophomore year her entire English class broke out in hive, sept her.”

            She narrowed her eyes.

            Clayton answered with a smile, “no she did not. How interesting.”

            She darted her eyes to him, and he raised his brows. His amusement dissipated and he shifted to the wood.

            A howl came.

            “The fuck,” Matt slurred frantically glancing around.

            His friends panicked, “what the hell was that?”

            Clayton spoke, “you boys should get going. Maybe call it a night.”

            Matt grew aggressive, “hey! Nobody tells me the fuck to do.”

            Clayton tracked backwards until he was closer to Rory, “okay, but I’m not very good with boundary casts.” He glanced at her, “more of an offense kinda guy. What about you Red?”

            Rory felt the creature stalking closer, slower this time, cautioned by Clayton’s presence. Her eyes widened, “me?”

            The beast appeared at the creeks edge. A yellow predatory stare scanning them.

            They froze.

            Matt squinted at the animal, “the fuck is that?”

            One of his friends added, “w-wolf?”

            Clayton eased in front of the four of them, away from Rory, making her feel vulnerable. “Red?” he asked.

            She knew what he was asking, a boundary cast. Although she’d studied them in grandma’s books. The ones she took without permission. Her warning was still clear in her mind; “You don’t want to be seen by those glares, Red.”

            Rory whispered, “I-I can’t.”

            The werewolf stepped cautiously into the creek, growling. It’s hungry gaze on Matt and his friends.

            Clayton slid into its view, “Oculi Mei.”

            Its eyes obeyed and set on Clayton.

He whispered behind him, “don’t run.”

As the beast stepped closer, Matt gripped the back of Clayton’s shirt, “fuck this.” And shoved him down to the rocks, rushing back to the bonfire. His three cowardly friends close behind.

The werewolf lurched forward, leaping over Clayton. Its jaws captured the last runaway, clamping into his entire left shoulder.

A retched shriek left him.

Matt and the other two made it through the trees disappearing with warning shouts of ‘wolf’.

Rory rushed backward, her back colliding with Clayton’s leaning boulder.

The beast swung its head from side to side, ripping its victims’ skin and spilling blood to the rocks. The young man screamed, cried, almost inaudible, “elp!”

Clayton floated off the ground to his feet. Crossed his wrists over his chest and pulled two long glowing sabers from his gold lit center. “Tracto!”

The werewolf’s head jerked back, pulled by an invisible force that took the young man’s flesh with it, still in its jaws. Blood sprinkled Rory’s face and the crack of bone and sound of ripping muscle echoed in the darkness.

Rory gasped, cupped her lips as nausea crept into her throat.

The creature turned its sights on Clayton. It roared dropping the shredded shoulder from its teeth. It lashed at him with long fingernail, razors. Clayton spun away, slicing a saber into its side, smoke rose from the wound.

An inhuman sound, a hybrid of growl and scream left the werewolf.

Clayton blocked another lashing with a saber and sliced its chest with the other. “Dis!”

The werewolf was sent back by the golden force leaving Clayton’s chest.

It skidded across the rocks, with a shriek. Its head turned to the rowdy bonfire and roared. The werewolf fled toward the scene.

The sabers in Clayton’s hands dissipated and he bolted for Rory. “Red?” His hot hands cupped her panicking face, “Rory?”

She watched his eyes dance across her blood-spattered face.

“You good?”

Rory nodded.

Clayton took her hand, pulling her along over to the dead body. He crouched beside it and placed his palm on its forehead. A flash of gold light shot through the head. Clayton stood, retook her hand and hauled her through the trees.

Rory looked back to the body; a hole was drilled into its forehead, “why?”

Clayton answered as he led them toward the screams, “full moon. Infection takes quick. He would’ve become like him.”

They came to a stop at the trail head clearing.

Chaos.

Against the fires’ glow, bodies were strewed on the blood-stained ground. Cars sped out of the parking lot, screaming girls ran into the trees for cover, and the werewolf ripped the insides of a dead blonde into its snout.

“We can’t let it get away,” Clayton said stepping into the scene. He glanced at her, “protect the unbitten. They still have a chance.”

Rory was about to protest but he was already floating toward the beast, gold daggers drawn.

She scanned the chaos. Oh great.

A small group of people huddled low behind a car with its top ripped clean off, it’s hood crumpled like foil. Among them were the girls who’d caused her so much misery. They watched the creature, eating the flesh off their friend, with mascara streaked faces.

Rory stole a glance over to Clayton. He whistled, drawing the werewolf’s attention. It faced him with agitation.

Rory took the opening, kept low and rushed to the whimpering group. They darted their teary eyes to her.

“What the fuck, Rory,” Trina quaked.

“Werewolf,” she answered.

The group frowned.

“Did you bring your car?” she asked Trina.

She nodded and pointed to the other side of the parking lot. Clear across the lot was Trina’s green Subaru.

“Can you make them fit?” Rory asked.

Trina glanced at the group taking inventory, “maybe, if people take laps.”

Everyone nodded frantically accepting the stipulation.

They moved together. Weaving between cars they gain more ground getting closer to Trina’s Subaru.

One car left to go, and Matt emerged from behind it. The group gasped and stepped back from the sight of his pale face. His shirt was ripped by razor claws. Blood spilled from his chest wounds, and black veins sprouted up his throat, angling up his chin. “Hey—guys.”

Rory eyed him up and down, infection. “Stay back, Matt," she warned.

The others stumbled behind her, voting her representative.

“You—you don’t look so good man,” his friend said from the back.

“The fuck you mean?” Matt spat, and black bile left his lips with his words.

The group stumbled back.

He staggered closer.

Rory protectively spread her arms over the others ushering them further behind her, “stay back, Matt. Your—your infected.”

“You were always such a bitch,” Matt hiccupped, and more black gunk spilled down his chin. He bared his teeth and they grew longer, sharper.

The others screamed.

Matt growled, opened his mouth and lurched forward.

Rory pushed Source from her chest, “stay back!” A red ripple left her, an extension of herself. The thought of keeping them safe concentrated in the forefront of her mind. It held Matt back, creating a curved boundary a distance of two feet between them.

Matt pounded on the red pulsing protection cast.

Rory gritted her teeth, combatting the force against her. “Go!” she managed, “Get to the car!”

The group ran.

Rory held the boundary, whispering Latin words of protection as she followed in a backwards hurried walk. “Protégé eos, protégé me in luce tua…” Repeat.

The car roared to life behind her and reversed.

Trina at the wheel called from inside, “Rory!”

The others cramped in the small car palmed the glass, shouting, “Rory! C’mon! Rory!”

She glanced back at them, touched by their genuine worry, “go.”

Trina hesitated.

Matt broke through the boundary in her moment of lost focus and slammed into her. Her back hit the dirt.

The Subaru sped off out of the parking lot.

Rory held Matt back, palms on his blood-soaked chest. Rotating her head side to side, she tried keeping the death smelling bile from entering her mouth. His teeth snapped at her. His elongated fingers pinned her arms to the ground.

She tried to remember what Clayton had said when he casted a dispelling phrase. But her mind went blank under the strain of Matt overwhelming her with his strength. Cheek against the dirt, she saw shredded party goers begin to rise from the ground. Infection. 

D—she remembered. Rory gave a final push and turned to a face that was no longer Matt, but a deforming mix of man and animal. A snout broke through his facial bones gaining him more inches to reach her.

“Dis,” she shouted, and a red pulse sent Matt flying backward.

Rory got to her feet.

Four walking infections sprinted toward her. Sorry Grandma.

Rory faced the threat, spread Source through her limbs, with intention against her enemies. In an inhale she took a solid step forward, prayer hands to her chest as it glowed crimson red. Prayer hands to the sky, she parted her palms, horizontal and stiff at her sides as she bent her knees, “Erumpo!”

A gust left her body, taking a fraction of her energy with it. The gale rose the dirt, hitting the infected. A boom followed, erupting their heads as the wind passed.

Panting and feeling weakness, Rory stood encircled by four headless bodies, and fragments of skull. She felt the yellow eyes and whipped her head toward the werewolf. Its body was smoking from slashes made by Claytons’ golden blades. The beast snarled at her as if noticing her for the first time as a threat.

“You don’t want to be seen by those glares, Red.” 

Rory stepped back, and it roared.

It galloped toward her.

Clayton floated off the ground behind it; in a gold outline, fingertips together forming a triangle. The gale that kept him in the air ruffled his hair and his eyes glowed with intensity. “Tenere.”

The beast abruptly hit a gold boundary keeping it from reaching her.

Rory darted her eyes to Clayton who’s face held strain against holding the cast. His stare flicked to her, locking their eyes.

The whispers came, kissing her ears, Simul Ut Unum. The ancient song floated on the breeze, sweet and beautiful.

A roar left the frustrated werewolf and it turned to Clayton; whos’ eyes never broke form hers. The creature pulled back a lanky arm.

“Tenere,” Rory said, catching the hit with a crimson boundary protecting Clayton.

That side smile appeared on his lips, and Rory mimicked his stance, rising from the ground, level with him.

The werewolf swiveled to look at her.

Clayton pressed his palms together, “Simul.”

Rory followed, “Simul.”

The gold and crimson boundaries closed in on the beast. It shrieked, struggling against the walls that squeezed it into a flat fit. It burst under the pressure, spilling black bile all over their boundary walls.

Rory’s crimson cast met Clayton’s gold. Her lips parted with the surge of energy that entered her.

Clayton’s connection to Source was pure, aged in lifetimes as a protector of its light. And she had always been his bridge, lost in this lifetime.

He’d finally found her.

Me?

He smiled, “You.”

***

Rory didn’t need to say goodbye. Leaving was easy, no one would miss her, except for grandma. But she was already dead. A faded memory, one of the whispers she listened to. And she was always with her.

            “I thought you weren’t good at boundary casts?” she asked with a smirk as they walked an uncharted path through a new dark wood.

            “I’m not.” Clayton used a tall branch he’d found as a walking stick. “But you,” he glanced at her playfully, always playful, “make me better.”

            Rory stopped; a crawling of her skin brought her goose flesh. Her senses warned her—Clayton’s new radar. He followed suit and darted his eyes through the trees. His vibration rose, easily detected by Rory now. He was readying his Source, for battle.

            “What do you feel, Red?” he whispered, keeping watchful of the dark.

            A clicking rang all around, distracting the mind with fear of its true location. The whispers came, divulging to her the secrets lurking in the shadows ahead.

            She whispered back, heart pounding, “straight ahead. Shifter.” The creature was unseen by its own glamour cast.

            Clayton formed a cast in his left hand. Making a circle with his thumb, fore and middle fingers, while stiffening his ring and pinky digits. He raised the symbol outlined in his golden light to his left eye, spoke, “Ostendo,” then flipped the circle over his eye.

            Like a drop of water hitting a still lake, gold ripples appeared over the trees ahead. The clicking grew louder, and the Shifter was revealed.

            Antlers veered into view out of their camouflage in the branches. Standing seven feet tall, on thin white legs emerges the monster. Four arms with long needle like fingers spread wide and the grey creature bent over, opened its jaws and shrieked.

            Clayton dropped his walking stick and stepped in front of Rory, golden sabers in his hands as the Shifter high kneed toward them. Rory took a wide stance and pushed prayer hands from her chest, protecting Clayton in a crimson boundary.

            Simul Ut Unum.

***

Simul Ut Unum: Latin; Together as one

Simul; Latin; Together

Tenere; Latin; Hold

Ostendo; Latin; Reveal

Erumpo; Latin; Burst

Dis; Latin; Depart

Tracto; Latin; Pull, drag

Plena Luna; Latin; Full Moon

Hasta; Latin; Spear