Dangerous, Diabolical

Frantically scanning the room, each obstacle became a possible barricade - should I stack furniture against the door or escape through the garden? Next step would be pile burnables, set fire, then run in the confusion. No, no I was overcomplicating it. I could just sneak back to the bedroom and escape out the side window.

There was a polite cough outside.

“Miss Doukas?” His voice was curious, wavering as he said my name as someone would when calling on the phone.

My purse was en-route to the back door. I wouldn’t have time to grab the key but if I channelled some heat pressure I should be able to shatter the glass before getting out. Would he hear me if I crept? Better be on the safe side and just make a run for it.

There was a soft, unexpected tap on the door, causing me to almost levitate into the air.

“I’m with the SPCC,” he announced and I squeaked again, clamping my mouth closed with my hands. “We’ve had a lot of incidents in the local area, and therefore we are just checking in with the vulnerable members of our community.” His voice raised a little at the end as if he were worried I wouldn’t hear him.

Trying to keep a rhythmic breathing pattern, the focus became pushing down the desire to run, after all, he hadn’t barged in trying to arrest me. Yet. However, I’d seen this on those human detective shows, where they’re all like, ‘We’re only here to talk, can we come in?’ and you sit them down just in time for the ‘you’re under arrest!’.

But if they didn’t open the door, the entry was usually forced and resulted in the suspect getting caught halfway out of a window.

Rubbing my tongue over my teeth to check that they were as flat as expected and not sharpening, I cracked the door slightly.

He stood, hair ruffled by the wind but appearing otherwise as I’d left him, and not about to whip out some handcuffs.

“Miss Celandine Doukas?” He prompted. After assessing that his knowing my name wouldn’t do too much damage, my head bobbed in acknowledgement. The syllables sounded odd in his pronunciation. Undeniably perfect English, but some of his vowels were drawn out oddly. The D’s hit heavier than usual. Whoever this man was he wasn’t a native English speaker.

“Just Andy,” I mumbled, averting my gaze. Had he met one of my kind before? Would he be able to tell what I was?

No, impossible. I’d been hiding my powers for years. Willow had assured me I was undetectable. My ability to disguise a human was more practised than his.

“Pleasure,” he paused mouth half ready to form an ‘A’, “Miss Celandine.” he averted, dodging my unacceptable nickname. “I am Leofstan Ortwin from the Department of magical anomalies. Before we can discuss things further, could you please confirm your registration for me?”

It took me a moment to find my voice whilst I tried to recall what I was registered as on the paperwork: Category unlisted. Life-threatening hazard. Destructive force. Magical bomb. Disaster waiting to happen.

Heh as if.

The truth was it the registration listed me as quite harmless.

“Category 37, human cross with fire starting and prolonged life abilities.” Liar liar pants on fire. “Registered this location and identity cover about three years ago.” I supplied.

He nodded as if he’d already known, taking a breath before continuing, “No doubt you’re wondering why I’m here.” Well, that was stating the obvious, but I wasn’t going to give him ideas. Yay for formalities.

SPCC Leofstan Ortwin continued his speech; “I have some information and regulations to convey, tied in with some concerning news that has been reported within the community.” As if we were suddenly being watched by every neighbour to the next village and over, he grew quiet and shot a glance around. “Would it be possible to discuss this inside?”

Ooh, that was a good one. Play decoy so I lower my defences for him to arrest me.

All that was needed was a pliable excuse to say no, however, when I didn’t respond immediately he indicated his head with a bob to the room behind me in an obvious urging gesture.

The forceful gesture, combined with his towering over me was tapping into the need to dominate other life forms and send him cowering. Let alone the smell.

But what would a weak, partial human do? Predator me didn’t want him anywhere near my territory. I’d rather smear it with his entrails. The problem lay in that if I could only cause fire sparks according to the legislature, and came out claws ablaze, I might get more of an insight into his powers than I wanted.

A few years ago I’d interacted with humans when I delivered pizza. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long because the meat toppings never made it to the customers. When they’d answered the door it was with a wary, but interested demeanour. That could just be because it was me bearing food. Would a strong magician give off the same kind of vibes to someone weaker than him?

“Um,” playing the part with a hesitation added in, “I don’t believe you.”

He didn’t even bat an eyelid, already frisking about his pockets. Yes, weak and unsure seemed to be an unsurprising response to him. Pulling from his blazer pocket with a practised hand, out came a small wallet which he flipped open. The credentials lit up. Yikes! I could barely contain a whistle.

Ortwin was the real deal alright. The ID was similar to your typical license but with the fancy pages of a passport. To the average eye, completely normal. To those from magic, it ran invisible lines that almost seemed to hover off of the page, the luminance off of the thin lines catching the light as he pushed some magical energy into the paper. Keyed to his power signature, It wouldn’t respond if he was not the true owner.

Sure enough, there was the SPCC logo, his name and his current form outline.

I squinted my eyes as if none of this was natural for me.

“Ministry of?” I puzzled, pretending the magical aspect was hard to see. If I was keeping up the weak charade, there was a good chance I wouldn’t have much talent in spotting things from the other side.

He shook his head gently.

“Squint your sight right here, can you catch this bit?” His voice was calm and practised. He pressed a finger just underneath the SPCC logo in a fluid gesture.

Making a show of leaning forward; puckering my face in what I hoped was concentration, and stalling for long enough to give the impression of taking an effort to read it, I pulled away with a shrug.

There wasn’t anything else to say to get out of the situation. “Oh,” I muttered, defeated. “I guess you better come in.” Dragging it out for as long as possible, the door hinges protested with an agonisingly slow shriek as it was pulled open.

Although his face remained neutral he began glancing behind and took a keen interest in the bushes. When he finally stepped into the threshold it was almost impossible to resist the urge to growl. Leofstan’s eyes roved around the room, but his head remained stiff as if to try and hide his curiosity. Eventually, his gaze lingered on the run-down couch. Failing to then subtly place a glance towards me, instead appearing as if assessing, he seemed to catch himself and looked back around at the empty corners, ears reddening.

Was he blushing? Hoisting the briefcase he carried whilst strolling over to the couch, for a moment his back was fully turned to me. Catching my breath, I tried to avoid seizing the opportunity. It would be so easy to pounce. If I sprang he’d be on the floor before he could even scream.

My knees twitched just at the moment he turned back around to sit down. His eyes met mine as if he saw right through me. Did he know? Was that a challenge in his gaze? I nudged the door closed with the back of my foot. No, it couldn’t be. Meeting eyes was a standard part of having a conversation.

Attempting to feign normality I went to take the stool by the kitchen counter, and barely made it a few steps, freezing as a barrage of smells seeped into the room. If I thought he smelt strong when he was outside this was excruciating. It could only be described as the equivalent of fast food on an empty stomach.

My mouth flooded with saliva. How was he such a mixture of prey scents? It was like the best of hunting all rolled into one. Was I growling? I wanted to lick his face. Sample the flavour. Would he be more rabbit? More stag?

“There’s no need to be worried Miss Doukas.” He urged, causing me to jump back to the present. Leofstan was perched on the end of the sofa observing me standing mid-room, completely immobile.

Snap out of it!

“Andy is fine.” I corrected, swallowing the excess saliva. He fidgeted with his pockets, looking around as if to find something else at my gulp.

He twitched his head to the kitchen. “Did you want to put the kettle on? It might calm your nerves?” He asked finally, shuffling on the couch as if his spot wasn’t worn to the pinnacle of comfort.

Why would putting on an electric device calm my nerves? I did own one and it sat unused in a cupboard. I understood it was a human necessity, but not what it was meant to be for past boiling water and I had perfectly good cold water in the tap. I could warm the water for free without it.

I shook my head. “Boiled water?” I asked incredulously, how would that help the situation? He paused before responding, furrowing his brows.

“Cold please,” he answered.

Wait, what? I replayed the exchange. He thought I was offering him a drink?

I didn’t want to make a drink! I needed him to leave before the entire SPCC dedicated their efforts as to why their employee had become splattered across my living room, which was about to become a very real reality.

At least it gave me an excuse to enter the kitchen and fling open the window wide. Fresh air rushed in abating the terrible smell slightly. Rummaging for a glass, it ended in me sending a pile of utensils piled in the cupboard over in a disastrous crash, revealing a couple of the generic tumblers I’d sourced cheaply from the local supermarket. He wasn’t allowed one of the fancy-cut glasses. What if his scent got stuck on it? I’d never be able to use one of those again. The first glass was promptly placed in the running tap water.

“Do you own this property?” The councilman asked. Did he think I’d skipped taking a freebie house off of the council? Shaking my head as I leant to shut the tap off I completely forgot I’d taken out a second glass. My elbow caught it on the counter and with a resigned inhale I braced for the shattering of glass.

But it never happened. Instead, my senses were assaulted with a rush of air and an accompanying barrage of his scent. Holy hell. The blood could be felt draining from my cheeks as the implication of how fast he could move dawned. Sure enough, he stood at my elbow holding the glass. I was startled, my actual feet leaving the floor and I was on the opposite side of the kitchen trying not to trip over my own legs.

Predator does not flee prey! My brain chided me.

When had the freak moved? My couch still held the imprint of his buttcheeks.

“Sorry!” He murmured, moving back a step. My heart began a crescendo of protest as he bobbed his head guiltily. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He gestured at the glass and counter.

Not trusting myself to speak I merely nodded. In the name of all the swears, how was he that fast?

I had visions of him running through the woods, me close behind him as he tried to avoid my claws. I needed to hunt him. He would be the ultimate challenge. The startled heartbeats turned into a pleasing crescendo. I’d not hunted many non-humans.

I decided that I didn’t want to share this one with Willow at all.

I licked my lips.