Bloodfire

Nope. It didn’t do any good.



“Anyway,” John continued, “from what I hear the new Lord Alpha is eager to stamp his authority across the Kingdom. He’s already made several visits to different packs and I have no doubt that sooner or later he’ll make his way to us whether we wish it or not.” He watched me carefully. “It might be better to get it out of the way whilst we can still maintain some control over the situation.”



I snorted. “Whatever,” and quickly changed the subject back to the wichtlein’s stone. Bureaucratic protocol might demand that we had to inform our Lords and Masters about it, but I was curious as to whether ‘large-scale death and destruction’ was really going to happen, or if it was just scare-mongering. “How seriously should I take this rock?”



John’s expression was suddenly completely humourless. “As to that, I’d say as seriously as possible. The ways and actions of the otherworld are rarely without good reason.” He held the little black stone between his finger and thumb and gazed at it quietly for a moment before placing it inside his shirt pocket and buttoning it over.



I frowned. If John was treating the situation that gravely then it definitely merited my more earnest attention. “I’ll stay here and scout the area, see what I can find.”



“Are you armed?”



I had my usual throwing daggers taped to my arms. And, of course, there was my blood. “I’m good.”



“Okay, then. I need you back at the keep by sunrise though or I’ll send Anton out looking for you.”



I threw John an evil look. Anton and I were not exactly mates. He laughed lightly and, picking up his broad rimmed hat that he’d left at the side of the clearing, turned towards the keep.



I watched his retreating back for a moment and then started to look around, belatedly realising that I hadn’t thought to ask him about the rumours he’d heard that had made him come here in the first place. Scuffing the dirt in a few places that looked as if they might have been disturbed, I wondered if they were related to the stone. It had certainly made a strange noise but it would never have been loud enough to attract anyone’s attention from far away, and the village itself was at least ten kilometres from here. Maybe the wichtlein that had left its little offering in the first place and been of the loud variety. I shrugged and continued looking carefully around me. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t find any more shiny stones though, or any traces of anything else. I paused for a moment, trying to use my Spidey senses but clearly I was either no superhero or there was nothing to be found. However, my gaze fell to the area on my right, which was dark despite the afternoon sunshine, and contained dense undergrowth that could be hiding all manner of things. Hopefully not actual spiders.



I forced my way through and sniffed the air. It was heavy and musty but felt natural. I ploughed ahead. Peering through the tangle of creepers and trees, it seemed as if there was something up ahead. Certainly not anything alive, or even undead, but there was something there that looked as if it didn’t belong. I squinted, trying to make out what it was, but couldn’t work it out from this distance. I guessed I’d just have to push through the maze of prickly gorse bushes to find out then. This would have been easier if I’d been wearing jeans instead of my running shorts.



I took a deep breath and gingerly stepped past the first clump, wincing slightly as the sharp thorns scored the skin on my thighs. I gritted my teeth and carried forward, hoping this was going to be worth it. By the time I reached the other side of the thigh high bushes, beads of blood were forming down the front of my legs although I’d gotten used to the mild irritation of the pain. Cursing John, wichtleins and the world in general under my breath, I looked up and realised that what I’d spotted was a length of black cloth. Odd. I checked around it, in case it was a trap of some sort, but it appeared to be merely hanging on its own from the branch of a gnarly oak tree. I tugged it a few times but it was fairly stubborn so I yanked harder, falling backwards into the gorse when it came free.



“Shit!” I swore loudly and even looked around to make sure that no-one had seen my fall. I wouldn’t have put it past some of the pack to have set this all up just to have a laugh at my expense. Grimacing in pain as the thorns pulled away from skin, I forced myself up and looked at my prize.



It was about three yards long with a skein of silver thread running through each side. It was unlikely that a Cornish local had left this behind, given its thorny location and heavy feel. I raised it to my nose and sniffed, before choking as the unmistakable stench of death hit my nostrils. Definitely not a local then. Unlikely to be a pack member playing a practical joke either – their sensitive sense of smell would have made it difficult to even get close to the material. Yet there was obviously something otherworldly about it.



I searched around again for any other signs of anything but came up short. There were no signs of a trail to be seen. I certainly wasn’t a tracker of John’s standards but I was fairly competent despite my lack of shifter super senses. However there was nothing; in fact it was as if the cloth had just dropped dramatically from the sky. The mystery deepens, I thought cryptically. Still, perhaps John might be able to shed more light on it. After all, for all I knew, wichtleins were just keen fashionistas along with casually dropping ominous rocky notes of doom for random passersby.



Looking up, I realised that the afternoon was beginning to turn into dusk, with the blue sky darkening over just a tinge. I glanced back at the gorse, the only way out, and sighed. Better get going, I figured. I didn’t think I’d be wearing any pretty skirts at any time in my near future after this. Well, to be fair, I didn’t actually own any skirts, or dresses, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t want the choice to wear them if I wanted to, without looking as if I’d travelled through a meat grinder at least.



It took me some time to get back through the thorny bushes and return to the clearing. I had another quick look around, just in case I’d missed something, but there was nothing there. Trying to avoid touching it with my bare skin, I put the black cloth over my shoulder, and headed westwards for the keep. The light-hearted feeling I’d had earlier that day during my run had completely dissipated. The potential Brethren visit notwithstanding, John was clearly taking this whole omen very seriously. I made a mental note to check the keep’s library later for any information about wichtleins. It was possible I could dig up something useful on the Othernet too.



I wasn’t far from home when Tom, my sparring buddy, bounced up to me. His tortoiseshell hair glinted in the fading daylight and his smile matched his sunny appearance. “Hey Red! Where have you been all day? And what is that awful smell? Have you been digging up old graves again?”



“Out for a run, then I helped John do some investigating in the forest. I found this on my way.” I pointed at the cloth from where the offending reek was coming from. He couldn’t help himself from leaning over closer and inhaling deeply, before recoiling away from me in disgust. Tom was the kind of guy who’d fart under the duvet then be compelled to lift up the cover to sniff.



“Eeugh! Let me guess, you were down a rabid rabbit hole and came across the shroud of Bugs Bunny?”



Clearly, my recent exploits had not gone without comment across the pack. I considered telling him the truth but figured that if John hadn’t mentioned it to the others yet then it was probably not my place to say. “Something like that,” I said dismissively, waving a hand airily in front of me. Tom shrugged and grinned, moving around to my non-death cloth wrapped side and placing an easy arm across my shoulder.



We walked companionably towards the large grey castle like building. Even after living here for years, I still felt a little thrill whenever I saw it looming towards me. Cornwall’s history was steeped in Celtic myths and rumour had it that our keep was built on the ruin of a centuries old Celtic castle. It certainly wasn’t a fairy tale castle with turrets and steeples, but its solid squatness was both welcoming and reassuring. The grand oak gate at its entrance bore marks of various violent fights and incursions from the past, either from the shifters who’d lived there in years gone by, or from even earlier inhabitants than them, and the rippling imperfections in the various visible glass windows hinted at its lack of modernity. Behind the keep, out of sight, was Julia’s little herb garden which she used to grow any manner of weeds with which to feed her various concoctions, whilst in front lay a long drive covered in pale pink shale which had the unnerving habit of jumping up by themselves and chipping a long line of visitors’ gleaming car paint. Regardless of anything, however, it was my home and I loved it.



Julia was just inside the door when we entered, pinning something up onto the noticeboard. She was a tiny woman with grey hair, slightly older than John and a whole lot scarier. She’d lived with the Cornwall pack for her entire life and treated everyone as if they were naughty children. She fixed me with a death stare. “Mackenzie Smith, don’t you dare come into the keep with that…thing. It smells like Hades.”



I lightly touched the cloth on my shoulder without thinking and then recoiled slightly at the shudder its touch gave me. “I need to show it to John,” I protested.



“I don’t care. It is not entering this building and defiling our living space. Besides, John has already gone out.” She sniffed delicately and continued to glare at me until I rolled my eyes in acquiescence and began to back out.



To be fair to her, despite the keep’s vaguely menacing appearance outside and shabby interior within, it was well-kept with a seemingly ever-lasting lemon fresh smell. I had long suspected that she hired brownies to clean it at nights, but had never been able to catch any of them to prove it. Tom almost ran up the stairs out of her way whilst I flounced outside and headed for an unused shed beside the north face of the keep, tying it securely to a post inside before stomping ungratefully back in. She was waiting for me in the hall.



“When will he back?” What I really wanted to know was whether he’d called he Brethren yet and if they were really coming to our little corner to investigate.