Hunter's Legacy

Alexander

He didn’t quite know where he was, all he knew was that they called it The Bunker and this is where people called Hunters trained to kill monsters. Alexander shook his head, knowing that, if he were to speak any of this aloud, he would get a first-class ticket to the loony bin. What he had witnessed in his home…that had been unreal. He came to the logical conclusion that Diana had some sort of psychotic break—but what kind of psychotic break would lead to his girlfriend killing his mother?

The picture of his mother’s light-brown eyes—the eyes that he had inherited from her—staring blankly into the living room, was going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Alexander felt a tear slip down his cheek as he looked around the room; it wasn’t much, cement walls and floor, a metal bed with white coverings on it, but there were no bars on the windows—not that there were any windows, either.

There was a knock on the door and Alexander called to whoever the person was, and then the door opened, revealing Natasha—one of the women who had brought him here.

“Hello,” she said, smiling, “I was wondering how you were settling in.”

“Well,” Alexander started, scratching his neck, nervously, “I’m not sure what I’m doing here.”

“Eddie didn’t go over any of it?” she asked, looking confused.

“Not really,” Alexander shrugged.

“Let me give you a tour than,” she said, opening the door wider and beckoning him to follow her, "We don't know why, but demons are after you, and the bunker is safe from supernatural creatures." With a strange look towards her, Alexander followed Natasha down the cement corridor, the only lighting being down it were the old kerosene lamps that were stationed on the wall, every foot or so. Soon, they stopped near where Alexander remembered coming in.

“This is where the bunker is monitored,” she said, pointing to the computer monitors that lined the walls. A closer look showed Alexander several rooms that showed up on the multiple screens, “The outside has cameras too, but, those are virtually invisible. The only rooms that aren’t monitored are our personal rooms and the bathrooms.”

“So, if someone comes in, a silent alarm goes off?” Alexander asked, nodding.

“Not exactly,” Natasha responded, “the cameras are just for extra precautions, but we have several wards and spells in place to keep certain…creatures…out.”

“Spells?” he asked, stumbling behind Natasha, as she started walking again, “Like spells that witches cast? Bubble-bubble-toil-and-trouble, Hocus-Pocus-type spells?”

“Actually, the spells we have in place are more complicated than that,” Natasha replied, in a tight voice.

“Uh-huh,” Alexander said, absently. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her, he just thought that it was highly impossible for witches to exist, let alone the magic they provided.

“And this is the gym,” Natasha said, as they came into a room that had work-out equipment and a boxing ring smack-dab in the middle of the room. There were two people in the middle of the ring, both wore tank tops and sweatpants, plus the headgear and boxing gloves that they needed to spar with, “We train here, every day, to make sure we are at the top of our game.”

“Game?” Alexander asked, with a raised eyebrow, “And what game is that?”

“We’re monster hunters,” Natasha said, simply. Alexander couldn’t help it, and he let out a laugh. Wrapping his hands around his middle, he laughed hard, so hard, he thought his eyes would start watering. His laugh echoed off of the cemented walls of the gym space, and, when he finally calmed down, his laughter died quickly when he realized that Natasha, as well as the two in the ring, were just staring at him.

“What?” he asked, wiping his eyes. Natasha didn’t respond, but she gripped his arm in a vice-like grip, and walked him out of the gym. Outside, Natasha shoved him against the wall, pain searing his back where it hit the cement. “What was that for?”

“You think this is all just a game?” she asked, her eyes narrowed, “You were lucky that I was there with you, most of these people would have beat you up. Some of them are ready to eat you alive.”

“But why?” Alexander asked, “None of what you’re talking about is real. Witches, monsters? It’s all just make-believe.”

“No, they’re not,” Natasha growled. Alexander noticed that her eyes started changing color—the whole of her eye changing to an inky black. She opened her mouth an inch and Alexander’s eyes widened as he saw that she had elongated canines, “We are absolutely real.”

Alexander shrank back, as though he could make himself smaller and get out of her sight. A minute later, though her eyes were back to normal, and her teeth were back in her mouth.

“Follow me,” Natasha said, beckoning him to follow, again. Without a fight, Alexander stood up straight, and followed after Natasha, who was walking at a brisk pace. He nearly lost her as she rounded a corner, but came to a quick stop when he saw that she stopped in front of a plain wooden door.

Natasha opened the door and she revealed a wide, well-lit, room with book cases stationed a couple of feet away from each other. Walking up to get a closer look, Alexander noticed that all of the volumes that were stacked on the shelves were leather bound; some were brown and beat-up and others looked like they were brand new. Picking up a black leather-bound book, he opened the cover, noticing that the pages had aged, where the page had once been pure white, there were now yellowing splotches. The curvy handwriting was still legible, none of it had faded, yet. The date at the top of the first page caught his eye: 1971.

“What is this place?” he asked, placing the book back in its place on the shelf.

“The archives,” Natasha responded, running her index finger over several spines of the books, as she moved towards him, “These are the Hunters’ Journals. They carry information about monsters—some we know are out in the world and others we haven’t seen yet. Every time I talk about what we do, you act like its all a big joke and, I’m hoping that this will open your eyes.” With that, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving Alexander in a room full of dusty books.

Camille

After searching every file on every witch that Piper had, but I could only find a single sheet of paper.

“Find anything?” Natasha asked, coming up behind me, as I read through the page once again.

“This is it,” I said, handing her the page. She scanned it, her eyebrows furrowing the farther down that her eyes moved.

“How can this be it? Piper’s contacts usually read like a Victorian novel,” Natasha responded, handing the page back to me.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “She said this Edie person is an old friend, so, maybe she is as trustworthy as Piper says she is.”

“Wow,” Natasha said, crossing her arms over her chest and raising her eyebrows at me, “Did Camille Andrews really just admit that someone she doesn’t know may be trustworthy? The apocalypse must be on the horizon.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” I said, sarcastically, as I slipped the page back into the manila folder. Putting the crutch on the floor to steady myself, I was able to get into a standing position, with some help from Natasha.

“How’s the leg?” Natasha asked, taking the folder from me and putting a hand on my shoulder to steady me before I fell back onto the chair that I had been sitting in.

“Doc said it was fine,” I responded, as we started walking in the direction of Piper’s office. We reached our destination, and Piper opened the door before I had a chance to try.

“What is this?” I asked slapping the file on the desk that Piper was sitting at. She looked up at me with a raised eyebrow before slowly opening the file.

“Why were you going through the filing cabinet?” Piper asked, folding her hands on the desktop.

“I have a right to know, exactly, who I’m going to be dealing with,” I responded, hobbling over to the desk and leaning down to put my hands flat against the surface, “Why does she only have one page, when the rest of the us have files so thick you could publish them and get your own book deal?”

“There wasn’t any reason to have a full profile on her,” Piper replied, sighing, as she picked up the file and placed it back in the filing cabinet.

“Really?” I scoffed, “You were the one who always said its better to know everything about someone—especially your associates—so you’re never surprised. Why is this Edie person so different?”

“Edie is different because…she saved my life,” Piper said, sitting back in her chair. Stunned, I sat down in the chair on the other side of the desk. What stunned me was that Piper had told me that witches couldn’t be trusted, and here she is trusting one, despite everything she had told me before.

“Sounds like a good reason to call someone a friend,” Natasha said, breaking the strained silence that had taken place over us.

“What—how—?” I asked, not understanding how this was possible.

“I come from a family of powerful New Orleans Witches. My grandparents were the Elders of the coven, and Edie was a member of the same coven. In the coven, children’s powers are bound until they’re thirteen.

“On my thirteenth birthday, my parents were talking about a ritual to officially welcome me into the coven. It was on the way to my initiation that I figured out that we weren’t going to meet with the other coven members, but my parents were performing a ritual so that they could take the whole of the coven’s magic for themselves, but they needed me, a source of new magic, someone who hadn’t come into their powers yet, someone who could hold all the magic they were about to receive.

“Luckily, for me, Edie was able to find out where we were, and, when everyone got there and they saw the ingredients, they knew, exactly, what was going on. They didn’t need time to consider a trial, because all of the evidence was laid out in front of them; my family was committing a crime and betraying the coven.

“My parents and my older sister were all slaughtered, and I was next, but Edie vouched for me, telling the Elders that I had no idea what was going on—which I didn’t. Because Edie was highly trusted within the coven, they believed her, and she took me in, when I had nothing.

“Edie didn’t blame me when I stopped practicing, and she didn’t argue when I decided to leave New Orleans and pursue hunting.

“So, Camille, that is why I say that Edie’s an old friend and I can trust her, because she proved to me that she can be trusted,” Piper said, "When, the whole time, the witches who I should've been wary of, were my own family."

“I’m sorry,” I said, it seemed like the only thing I could say to compensate for sounding like an ass.

“Next time, talk to me before you start questioning my judgement,” she said. I nodded, before I stood up, Natasha and I making our way out of the office.

“Wow, I really didn’t see that coming,” Natasha said, as we made our way towards the archives.

“What are we doing here?” I asked, as Natasha held the door open.

“I left Alexander to do some light reading,” Natasha smirked as we made our way over to a table, which was piled with Hunters’ journals. Laying his head on top of one, Alexander had his eyes closed and he was breathing deeply—he was asleep.

“How did he manage to piss you off?” I asked, sitting in a chair that was across from Alexander and then picking up one of the journals and starting to flip through it.

“He’s not taking this whole thing seriously,” Natasha shrugged, “he laughed every time I talked about hunting monsters, so I brought him here, hoping to enlighten him a little bit.”

“You do realize that, those who start hunting, those who haven’t seen a supernatural creature, often think they’re on a wild goose-chase until they come face-to-face with the very monster itself,” I said looking up from the journal that I was leafing through.

“Are you suggesting we put him in danger?” Natasha asked.

“No, I’m saying, we get our asses to New Orleans, find Edie, and get the protection spell on him, show him some real magic before he has a chance to come face-to-face with his own monster.”

Flamboyant and loud were two words to describe New Orleans when we arrived in the city two days later. Music could be heard coming from windows of historical-looking buildings, and a parade of people in brightly colored costumes marched down the street.

“Where does she live?” Natasha asked, speaking loudly over the combination of loud music and people.

“I don’t know,” I responded, looking at the small slip of paper that Piper had written the address on.

“You could ask someone,” Alexander shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Yes, I could ask someone,” I replied, sarcastically. Looking up at the building next to me, I realized that it was a bar. As much as I hated to acknowledge it, Alexander was right; there would be people in there who knew this city better than I did.

The bar wasn’t that crowded, most sat at tables, or the bar itself, and ate afternoon meals, or caught up with others.

“Go sit down, I’ll take care of getting directions,” I said, pointing to an empty table. With much grumbling from Alexander, he and Natasha made their way over to the table. Making my way up to an empty space at the bar.

“Excuse me,” I said, putting on a smile, as the bartender turned. She was a woman with sun-kissed skin and her hair was blonde and wound in tight, cork-screw curls.

“What can I get you?” she asked, flashing a bright white smile.

“My family and I are here, visiting a relative. We’ve never been here and we don’t know where her house is,” I said, putting down the paper and sliding it over the bar top to her. She looked at it and then glanced up at me for a brief second, before her eyes went back to studying the paper.

“Um, yeah, this place is on the outskirts of town, near the bayou,” she said.

“How would I get there?” I asked.

“Follow the road, until it comes to a dirt path, and then you follow the path, it’s the first house before you reach the water,” she said.

“Thank you,” I responded, stepping away from the bar and walking back towards the table that Alexander and Natasha occupied.

“Did you get it?” Natasha asked.

“Yeah, and we better get going before it gets any later,” I said. The two nodded and followed me out of the bar. We walked down a cobblestone sidewalk, and turned a corner to where Natasha parked my car. I wasn’t too crazy about Natasha driving my car, but with the bullet hole in my leg, I couldn’t drive until it was healed.

“I don’t even know why I’m here,” Alexander grumbled, from the back seat, as I gave Natasha the directions that the bartender had given me.

“Did no one explain this to you yet? You’re here so we can protect you. This woman is going to place a protection spell on you, so that you can be protected and we won’t have to babysit you,” I responded, in a slightly sarcastic manner; the kid was really getting on my nerves with his constant whining. The car came to a stop at the beginning of a narrow dirt path that was obscured by trees—weeping willows to be precise. Natasha looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t know we were supposed to go and find it ourselves.”

I sighed and we got out of the car, starting to make our way down the path. The weeping willows kept us partially shaded from the afternoon sun and the cicadas’ buzzing was the only sound to be heard.

It seemed like we were walking forever, before the trees started thinning out; walking a bit farther, we came to a clearing, where there was a house, one that looked like it had been added onto over the years. The trees circled around the back of it, and there was a small pond off to the right.

We were in the middle of the yard when there was a growl. My guard went up and I lifted my gun out of the back of my pants, just as a wolf bounded around the house. It stopped a foot away from me snarling and growling.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” Alexander said, a scared note in his voice.

“No,” I said, glaring at the wolf, as it continued snarling, “We came here for a reason and damn it if we’re going to leave before we get what we came for.”

The cracking of bones echoed through the air, and a woman—sans clothing—stood in front of us, glaring at us through narrowed brown eyes.

“If you live long enough to get inside,” she snarled, another growl rumbling from her chest.

“Abby,” a voice called from the house. Neither Abby, nor I, took our eyes off of each other, and we heard the dry grass crunch under shoes as, whoever spoke approached us, “Abby, back down.” A caramel-colored hand was set on Abby’s naked shoulder and, with one more, low, growl, Abby shifted back into the wolf and bounded around the back of the house, once more.

“What can I do for you?” the woman asked. Her caramel-colored skin gleamed in the afternoon son and her dark brown hair had gray streaked through it. The bangles on her arms clicked in a musical way when she moved. Sensing that she wasn’t a threat, I lowered my gun and put it in the back of my pants, once more.

“Edie?” Natasha asked. The woman looked at her and nodded, “Piper sent us.” Edie’s dark-painted lips quirked up in a smile.

“Come, then,” she said, beckoning to us. We followed her into the house, the porch steps creaking under our weight.

The inside of the house was painted a subtle yellow color, and there was mismatched furniture arranged in a small living room area.

"Why aren't you coming in?" Alexander asked Natasha who was still standing in the doorway.

"She wasn't exactly invited in," I said.

"Why should that stop her? We came in just fine," he shrugged, as if not getting it. pinching the bridge of my nose, I let out a deep breath, trying to keep my temper in check, even when he was trying my last nerve.

"Weren't you supposed to learn this from the archives? According to the lore, vampires can't go into the residence of a living person's house without being invited," I answered, feeling frustrated.

"Natasha, I invite you into my home," Edie said, cutting Alexander off before he could open his mouth and form a response. Natasha nodded and stepped inside making her way to the sofa and sitting down upon it. “I understand, from talking to Piper, that you are looking for a protection spell,” Edie said, as she sat in a wicker chair with olive-green cushioning.

“Yeah,” I answered, feeling distracted as I let my gaze still roam around the room.

“Just what are you looking for, may I ask?” she asked, and my eyes made it over to her to see her staring at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, you are a witch,” I shrugged, taking a seat on the arm of the wicker sofa with the navy-blue cushioning, “I was just looking for…witch-y stuff.”

“Witch-y stuff?” she asked, her brow raising higher, “Like voodoo dolls and shrunken heads?”

“Well yeah,” I shrugged.

“Anyway,” Natasha butted in, continuing the conversation before I interrupted, “Piper speaks very highly of you, and we were hoping would help us.”

“I can try to see what I can dig up,” Edie said, getting up and shuffling towards what looked like the kitchen. The three of us looked at one another and I stood up, taking that as my cue to follow her. I walked through the kitchen, which was painted turquoise, and I saw an archway. I walked through it and found Edie standing at a small table, a thick book open upon it, as she turned the pages.

I looked around and noticed that there were shelves upon shelves of glass jars, each contained some colored powder, or dried herb, root, or flower.

“Well, here’s something,” Edie said, picking up the book and taking a closer look, “It is a protection spell, but…” she trailed off, her eyes widening as they scanned down the page.

“But what?” I urged.

“…it is also a binding spell,” she said.

“A binding spell?” Alexander asked, coming over to the table to look at the book, “What is a binding spell? And how can you read this, it doesn’t look like a language I’ve ever seen.”

“A binding spell is what we witches use to bind one object or person to another—most often, it’s a person to an object because that object needs to be protected. And the language is Latin,” Edie replied, answering Alexander’s question.

“Alright, so go on, Natasha, you can be his protector,” I said, gesturing to the table.

“Actually, she can’t,” Edie said, as she started gathering the ingredients for the spell.

“Why not?” Natasha and I asked, simultaneously.

“Sometimes its easier if humans are bound to one another,” Edie explained, as she sliced along her palm and added her blood to the bowl of crushed roots and powder.

“Come here, Alexander,” Edie said, holding out her hand and beckoning him over to the table. Alexander walked over and took his space on one side of Edie. She held out her hand and proceeded to beckon towards me, too.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I scoffed, shaking my head and crossing my arms over my chest.

“If you don’t want to do this, we won’t do it and Alexander will go unprotected,” Edie said, and I could tell she was getting frustrated. Part of me wanted to just walk out, drive back to the bunker, leave New Orleans and this whole ordeal in my rear view mirror. The other part of me knew that if I acted on that impulse, Piper would kick my ass all the way back here to make sure that the spell got done anyway.

I sighed and walked over to the table, cocking my hip against the edge.

“Hands, please,” Edie said. Both Alexander and I produced our hands, and then Edie produced a blade, and held my hand, by the wrist, before making a swift cut over my palm. I hissed, holding my palm over the bowl and watching the blood drip into the bowl. Edie did the same to Alexander’s hand, and then there was an explosion of smoke from the bowl. “Now, join your hands.”

Edie stepped back, allowing Alexander and I to step closer towards each other. We pressed our injured hands, palm to palm, holding our joined hands over the bowl; glancing down. I noticed that the smoke had cleared and I watched the concoction inside the bowl ripple, like water after a stone has disturbed its peaceful surface.

Thick red bands slithered out from the bowl and wrapped around our hands. I tried to pull my hand back, but the bands only got tighter. My eyes were glued to the bands as they changed from red, and started to glow gold. My wrist started burning, as if I was being speared with a red-hot poker. Finally, the bands disappeared as fast as they had appeared on us, and I brought back my hand.

Turning my wrist, I saw the Celtic symbol for protection burned into my skin. Looking at Alexander, I saw that he had the same symbol on the inside of his wrist, too.

“You two are now bonded,” Edie said, stepping between us to retrieve the bowl, which the contents of looked like it was all ash, “be careful, because whatever happens to one of you, happens to the other.”

“You mean like, if I die, he dies?” I clarified.

“Or the other way around, yes” Edie replied.

“Well, thank you,” Natasha said, before I could open my mouth again, “We really appreciate all of it.”

“Anything for Piper and her friends,” Edie replied, sounding liked a proud mother.

“We should probably get going, we have a long drive ahead of us,” I said.

“Of course. Remember to be careful,” she said, with a meaningful look at me. I nodded, and started to make my way to the door. I was halfway across the yard when Natasha and Alexander caught up with me.

“What was that?” Alexander asked, rubbing at the mark on the inside of his wrist.

“That, Alexander, was magic,” Natasha said, as we continued walking down the path, as the sun set over the trees, the cicadas song seeming to get louder, “Are you a believer yet?” Alexander didn’t answer, as we walked along the path, as if he was trying to comprehend everything that had happened within the past few hours. Soon we came to the car and got in, starting our journey back to the bunker.