I found a cluster of boulders and climbed to the top and sat there and relived my mad dash up the mountain. It had been exhilarating, thrilling—and it had all been possible, courtesy of the demon within.
No, I didn’t hate her. She had, in fact, shown me a side of life that few would ever see.
Of course, I knew now that I hadn’t been randomly picked, that my bloodline reached all the way to the greatest alchemist of all time, Hermes Trismegistus.
Yes, my bloodline was desirable.
For what, I didn’t exactly know, although some of it had to do with helping the dark masters back into this world. Directly. And not through hosts like myself.
Directly and permanently.
I pulled up my legs and wrapped my arms around my knees. There was a hole in my pants. My running shoes were kinda ruined, too, I saw. I didn’t think Asics had something like me in mind when they field-tested their products. I flicked a hanging piece of the rubber sole. I needed new shoes anyway.
The wind was strong up here, and infused with a mix of desert and mountain scents. After all, one side of the mountain sloped down into Joshua Tree, one of the more epic of Southern California’s deserts, which just so happened to be the name of my favorite U2 album. Yes, I’m showing my age.
Then again, a hundred years from now, with music coming and going and my kids long since dead, I would still have a fondness for 80s’ and 90s’ alternative rock.
Suddenly depressed, I considered my case. Which was the reason why I’d come up here in the first place.
That something was stalking these woods, I had no doubt. There had been no witnesses, and no evidence of foul play. The bodies had never been found. Something or someone had either consumed them completely, or had been damn good at hiding the evidence. I figured, it was probably a little bit of both.
A gust of hot wind blasted me, whipping my hair into a frenzy. I let my hair flap and felt the wind on my neck and skin, relishing the feeling. I figured the thing inside was relishing the feeling, too. Through me. Sensing the physical world again through me.
So, we both sat there on the rock, enjoying the night breeze, as the nocturnal creatures came out, although not as many this high up, above the treeline with little vegetation. Still, I heard the scurrying, the scratching, the vocalizing. It was late early fall and I should have been cold. I wasn’t.
Of course, I had a good bead on who was stalking the hikers up here. Nancy wasn’t lying to me. She believed what she was telling me. Whether or not her ex-boyfriend was killing the hikers—or that he was, in fact, a werewolf—remained to be seen.
I closed my eyes and felt the wind ripple my clothing and rock me gently. I rested my hands on my knees and let my mind slip away, far away from here. Where it went, I didn’t know, but there on the mountaintop, far from anyone and anything, I found a rare moment of peace.
And I treasured it.
Then, when I was back, I opened my eyes, took a deep and useless breath, and then did what any other lost girl would do on a mountaintop.
I stripped off all my clothing and used a much-honed technique of wrapping my clothes, including my shoes, inside my shirt and tying it all together with the legs of my jeans. Just add a stick through it, and I could have been a hobo.
Then I summoned the single flame and saw the giant creature I would soon become.
A moment later, in a process that was painless, unlike in the movies, I was very much not just another lost girl. I was something monstrous and far too scary for this world.
Using a clawed foot, I hooked my makeshift traveling satchel, gathered myself there on the rocky outcropping, and then launched high into the sky...
And spread my wings wide.
Now, I thought, as I caught a hot gust of wind and sailed out over a dark valley, Where did I park my car...?
Chapter Fourteen
We were in bed.
It was past midnight, and the evening had been invigorating. Thanks to my little tirade last year—a tirade which involved the impaling of Kingsley’s hand with a fork—we had been forced to look for a new hangout. We had found it by way of The Cellar restaurant in downtown Fullerton. More accurately, under downtown Fullerton, as the name was indeed fitting. It was also underneath the offices of our local congressman, which, I think, might have been cooler than it really was.
The Cellar was more our style. Dark, gloomy, isolated. I probably still couldn’t get away with impaling Kingsley, but at least we could probably sneak back in.
Afterward, we had walked around downtown Fullerton, holding hands, looking in windows, avoiding drunks and rowdy college students, often one and the same. It was, after all, a Friday night and nearby Fullerton College was in full swing. Harbor Boulevard was lined with white lights, in a sort of year-round Christmas décor. We walked past Jacky’s gym, which was presently dark, other than a small, muted glow in the back offices. Maybe Jacky was going over the books.
Spirit activity was everywhere. Downtown Fullerton was particularly old for Southern California. Lots of activity here over the years, lots of death and crime, too. Lots of heart attacks and car accidents and muggings. In fact, one such accident kept replaying itself, over and over, on a nearby street corner. Two cars coming together in an explosion of light. Over and over. I watched three spirits separate from the wreckage and stand together, looking down and looking confused.
Kingsley saw the spirits, too, but rarely let them get to him, and never did he feel a need to help the truly lost souls. Early on, I had. I wanted to go to each one, and urge them to move on. To the light, and all of that. But I have since come to realize that I can’t help them all.
And the truth is...
Well, the truth is, I am caring less and less these days about whether they move on or not. Their plight is not my plight. I have my own issues. Yes, I know some of the uncaring was coming from her within me. Then again, it was because of her that I could even see the damn spirits in the first place.
After our stroll—and after Kingsley had tossed aside a young punk who had pinned a girl to a wall and had been talking to her a little too aggressively—we had made our way back to his place.
Once there, and once Franklin had taken our coats, we somehow, magically, ended up in his bedroom. From there, the clothing was optional...and mostly optional.
Thirty minutes later, the big oaf lifted himself off me. Damn good thing I didn’t have to breathe. Afterward, we had gotten a midnight snack and eaten it over his kitchen counter. I was wearing his long shirt. He was wearing no shirt. While we talked, I might have giggled one too many times, because Franklin had appeared in the doorway, looking none too pleased. Then again, he rarely looked pleased to see me. Of course, he also sported a scar that literally wrapped around his neck. A scar that implied, well, that he’d lost his head at some point.