Dear Diary,
I decided to head to class instead of dick off and stay in bed with Curtis all day. It was sorely tempting but I need my head on straight and giving into the stupidity of romance and love wasn't going to be the way either of us stayed alive. So I slipped off to the neurology course I'm responsible for and watched the students in the first years range from bored to exhausted to overtly attentive. Only one or two stared at my bruise eyebrow or the cut on my forearm.
No one asked me questions anymore. Stories always traveled around, between me being a gangster to being in an abusive relationship to me self harming. It used to bother me. Now usually I smile when I catch someone staring and say I'm in therapy. They interpret that however they want.
As I sat and listened to the parts of the autonomic nervous system be described and attributed to branches of the spinal cord, I drifted into thoughts about the deaths of the hunters. The heart I held in my hand. I had ripped it out of the demon. No sword needed. Just the bloodlust and rage. It's heat was still fresh in my hand. Merov had ate a heart, exactly like that one, raw.
Was that still Merov?
The question haunted and I decided it needed an answer. Merov and I had never been the best of friends. He had given me weapons when I needed them, and I had given him the lay of the land for the unnatural world. Somewhere in there, I had thought we connected. Probably because I felt myself inextricably pulled towards him, a magnet in my mind I couldn't escape.
When I arrived I was brought to his office. He moved with a newer, easier grace than I remembered upon my first meeting with him. The dragon. It was growing comfortable in his human skin. And I made him uncomfortable, at least, by the way he looked at me for weapons and the way he moved with some unease around me.
I opened conversation with a concern for his humanity and like any true politician, he turned it back on me. It was a game I was used to with demons, fae, and the odd vampire I had met. Politicians at their core. So I answered honestly and waited to see if it made him reconsider. It did something. We openly admitted our fear of each other, of the inevitable fight that was always circling our minds. Neither of us were confident in who would win. It was as enticing as it was terrifying. To show I wasn't here to murder him, I tossed my knife on the desk. Peace. I was here, I supposed, in some sort of peace.
Then he asked why I didn't trust him. I told him why. Being played and used as a political pawn was something that always pissed me off. He laid it out as he saw it. That it wasn't what I thought. That we had just come together by fate and we had both done what we naturally do. I hunted and killed. He conquered.
The thought made my insides hurt after the hunt the night before. It was true. There was a base nature to my existence that he saw. It complimented in his own in a way that had so far resulted with him with more power and demons in the city. I wanted to feel assured that it was a good thing, that the dragon was doing as I had asked, reforming the city to be peaceful.
But he conquered. I killed.
The very real possibility that we were the villains, not just he, began to form in my mind. Together, we could make the city new. Even without me, he probably could do it. I would just make the way easier, destroy and cause chaos in just the right amounts to give him a chance to seize power. Like with the lions.
There are only a very few people to put faith in. The city was struggling to find leadership and harmony, as all unnatural communities did. My choices were Merov or Maeve. Curtis had chosen Maeve. Why? I will never know.
Merov had shown vulnerability in an attempt to offer trust. He had talked of destiny, of his dragon, of Curtis' dragon... and that there was one resting inside of me as well. There was a ritual. He could awaken it, solve the mystery of why I found myself constantly drawn towards him. I didn't want the answer. I had to focus on trying to figure out the dance between Curtis and myself.
So instead I agreed to help with his mission. On the condition he tried to stop too many casualties from happening, and that Curtis was left out of it as much as possible. He agreed to try to prevent casualties. And he said that it was always Curtis who killed him.
That tug towards him pulled at me again. I felt the need to touch him, to reach for him. Instead of fighting it, I did. He had turned to see me out and I reached for his arm to thank him, I guess, for his time. The touch tried to encourage the tug. Instead, I let him go and grabbed my knife from his desk. I had placed my bets on Merov. He was the horse that would win the race to power. And I had said I would be his weapon to forge.
Listen
Dancing With Demons
I used to think the worst feeling in the world was losing someone you loved, but I was wrong. The worst feeling is the moment that you realize that you’ve lost yourself.
Saturday, 2 July 2016
In Which Demons Own the Night
Dear Diary,
There's an artistry to killing that I never confess to. Everything can die, and the way you kill them, the way you leave them, is the message you send to others that would cross you. When I was so lost in the world of hunting that I barely remembered my name, this message became the key focus of my killing. I hunted without mercy then. I destroyed anything that came across my path.
It's part of the compulsion, the hunger of the hunter. We exist between human and monster, needing the compulsion to push us beyond our physiological capabilities. This mostly manifests in how people perceive us, stronger, faster, a little bit more adaptable and a little bit tougher than the average human. But the blood we spilt to get there is the part people don't see. The cost is high. The continued cost is higher still.
The hunter is just as it sounds. We hunt. We yearn for blood to be spilled and for the kill. The more we do it, the more we want to do it. The more we avoid it, the crazier we get, the more disastrous the fallout when we finally do succumb to the base instinct of blood letting. I try to only kill once or twice a week. It's enough to keep the urges at bay with the liberal application of alcohol and fucking. Fucking is close. It's probably why I leave my lovers with bruises at times.
But emotional stress, or even physiological stress, can trigger the instinct. Sometimes it's a choice we make, like when I killed Florence. Sometimes it's just the thing inside takes over. No one looks at hunters like we're lunatics though because it's monsters we kill. No one sees the casualties that we leave behind. We're too solitary, too lost in our own world of kill or be killed.
When I walked away from Merov to hunt the demons, I thought it would take a couple hours, at most. I'd be there to have last call with Curtis, fuck him, and probably have a decent sleep before class tomorrow. I didn't realize I was entering a brutal fight to the death that would end in more blood that I had anticipated.
Boston's been on the radar for most of the supernatural community. Between the Amber Vampires and the ley lines that Cesar is trying to fuck with, hunters have felt the trembles of the on coming war for awhile. It meant there were more of us. A city alive with hunters is rare. A crowded city of hunters means there's maybe ten of us. Ten people who are lost in the hunt and the kill. The sanity of the hunters ranges from people in control and stable, to those who are feral hunters just living for the kill.
We were lucky that of the eight of us, only one was mostly gone to the urge. Every inch of the fucking city was crawling with the demons. People were screaming. Most were just dying. None of us knew each other. None of us were friends. But the blood speaks to us and we hunted as a pack, solitary and yet unified. If one of us fell, we didn't flinch or try to save them. We moved on. It's the way of the hunt.
It was three in the morning when the pounding of the wound on my neck and shoulder had begun to make me pull away from the joy of the hunt. I don't remember a lot of what happened between the fifth kill and the last one. Some people would call it frenzy, but it doesn't look like it. From the outside it looks controlled and deliberate, even when we leave our enemies in pieces. Salza and I were the last standing.
My phone buzzed. It was enough to break the spell. The vampires were dead. Demons. Whatever. Salza was struggling with the last one. I dropped the heart that was bloody in my hand and walked over to end the last one. It sank its fangs into my arm and I sank my dagger into its skull. It was a fair trade. The other hunter was horribly wounded, his leg mangled.
Curtis left a message. Something about Derek. And that I needed to come home. My muscles hummed with the urge to keep going. I had to grit my teeth and turn away from the world to be able to even fully remember Curtis. Then it came back, crashing into my reality like a wave of cold water. The torture. Florence's death. Solomon's hands on me. The drugs. Carla's eyes. I had abandoned Curtis because I didn't want to feel any of it. I didn't want to tell him I had fucked Solomon because things between us were complicated and I didn't want complicated.
The hospital didn't question me when I dropped off Salza. They're used to me just appearing with half dead people. It used to make a difference. Now they knew they couldn't stop me. One of them offered to look at the wounds on my shoulder and my arm, but I shook my head and walked out. From my pocket I slipped my driver's license and as I climbed into the truck, shoved it back into my wallet. Beside my wallet, a bag of driver's licenses sat, blood smeared across it.
We always keep our licenses on ourselves when hunt. It's a way of leaving a message to our families. We died. You don't have to wonder. We died.
The pile of them made my jaw tense. There was just Salza and I and he was out of commission for awhile. It would be up to me to protect the whole fucking city. When I reached home, Curtis was still mostly drunk, but at least showered. Carla was no where to be found and he called me home... because he was worried.
I tried to ignore the immediate anger that flooded my body. Curtis knew better. I was a hunter. I hunted. If I disappeared it was usually for good reason and not arbitrary. He's afraid of abandonment. But this is who I am. It's what I am. I hunt. I kill.
The shower revealed just how many scrapes, scratches, and bruises I had managed to get. The cut over my eyebrow wasn't bad, and the bite had closed over, but the deep gouge in my shoulder was still seeping blood. I covered it and grabbed a towel before I walked out to talk to Curtis. He offered coffee and booze. Smart man.
We talked. It was a conversation I didn't want to have. Not really. It was admitting that we had changed, that something had changed enough we needed to take it out and talk about it. I hate talking about how I feel, more than I hate most things. But the words were said and they can't be unsaid. We love each other. In ways that we shouldn't and that aren't going to make life any easier. We talked about what that meant, and ran in circles with it. I was too tired. My body hurt.
Finally I told him the truth about my research, that I was finding a way to remove the hunter genes in me. He asked if it would work for him, and I honestly didn't know. In theory it should. It worked on a vampire, once. One of Alistair's friends. It was petty of me but I wanted to know. He was only one of other humans I had killed.
Curtis reluctantly let me take his blood. Morning began to arrive and we crawled into bed. I needed a few hours of sleep. At least two. Just enough that my hunter genes that I so wanted to get rid of would start to heal me. It was the first time I had slept beside someone who knew I loved them since I was a teenager. It was terrifying and comforting and I was afraid for the future, more than I had been in a decade.
Listen
There's an artistry to killing that I never confess to. Everything can die, and the way you kill them, the way you leave them, is the message you send to others that would cross you. When I was so lost in the world of hunting that I barely remembered my name, this message became the key focus of my killing. I hunted without mercy then. I destroyed anything that came across my path.
It's part of the compulsion, the hunger of the hunter. We exist between human and monster, needing the compulsion to push us beyond our physiological capabilities. This mostly manifests in how people perceive us, stronger, faster, a little bit more adaptable and a little bit tougher than the average human. But the blood we spilt to get there is the part people don't see. The cost is high. The continued cost is higher still.
The hunter is just as it sounds. We hunt. We yearn for blood to be spilled and for the kill. The more we do it, the more we want to do it. The more we avoid it, the crazier we get, the more disastrous the fallout when we finally do succumb to the base instinct of blood letting. I try to only kill once or twice a week. It's enough to keep the urges at bay with the liberal application of alcohol and fucking. Fucking is close. It's probably why I leave my lovers with bruises at times.
But emotional stress, or even physiological stress, can trigger the instinct. Sometimes it's a choice we make, like when I killed Florence. Sometimes it's just the thing inside takes over. No one looks at hunters like we're lunatics though because it's monsters we kill. No one sees the casualties that we leave behind. We're too solitary, too lost in our own world of kill or be killed.
When I walked away from Merov to hunt the demons, I thought it would take a couple hours, at most. I'd be there to have last call with Curtis, fuck him, and probably have a decent sleep before class tomorrow. I didn't realize I was entering a brutal fight to the death that would end in more blood that I had anticipated.
Boston's been on the radar for most of the supernatural community. Between the Amber Vampires and the ley lines that Cesar is trying to fuck with, hunters have felt the trembles of the on coming war for awhile. It meant there were more of us. A city alive with hunters is rare. A crowded city of hunters means there's maybe ten of us. Ten people who are lost in the hunt and the kill. The sanity of the hunters ranges from people in control and stable, to those who are feral hunters just living for the kill.
We were lucky that of the eight of us, only one was mostly gone to the urge. Every inch of the fucking city was crawling with the demons. People were screaming. Most were just dying. None of us knew each other. None of us were friends. But the blood speaks to us and we hunted as a pack, solitary and yet unified. If one of us fell, we didn't flinch or try to save them. We moved on. It's the way of the hunt.
It was three in the morning when the pounding of the wound on my neck and shoulder had begun to make me pull away from the joy of the hunt. I don't remember a lot of what happened between the fifth kill and the last one. Some people would call it frenzy, but it doesn't look like it. From the outside it looks controlled and deliberate, even when we leave our enemies in pieces. Salza and I were the last standing.
My phone buzzed. It was enough to break the spell. The vampires were dead. Demons. Whatever. Salza was struggling with the last one. I dropped the heart that was bloody in my hand and walked over to end the last one. It sank its fangs into my arm and I sank my dagger into its skull. It was a fair trade. The other hunter was horribly wounded, his leg mangled.
Curtis left a message. Something about Derek. And that I needed to come home. My muscles hummed with the urge to keep going. I had to grit my teeth and turn away from the world to be able to even fully remember Curtis. Then it came back, crashing into my reality like a wave of cold water. The torture. Florence's death. Solomon's hands on me. The drugs. Carla's eyes. I had abandoned Curtis because I didn't want to feel any of it. I didn't want to tell him I had fucked Solomon because things between us were complicated and I didn't want complicated.
The hospital didn't question me when I dropped off Salza. They're used to me just appearing with half dead people. It used to make a difference. Now they knew they couldn't stop me. One of them offered to look at the wounds on my shoulder and my arm, but I shook my head and walked out. From my pocket I slipped my driver's license and as I climbed into the truck, shoved it back into my wallet. Beside my wallet, a bag of driver's licenses sat, blood smeared across it.
We always keep our licenses on ourselves when hunt. It's a way of leaving a message to our families. We died. You don't have to wonder. We died.
The pile of them made my jaw tense. There was just Salza and I and he was out of commission for awhile. It would be up to me to protect the whole fucking city. When I reached home, Curtis was still mostly drunk, but at least showered. Carla was no where to be found and he called me home... because he was worried.
I tried to ignore the immediate anger that flooded my body. Curtis knew better. I was a hunter. I hunted. If I disappeared it was usually for good reason and not arbitrary. He's afraid of abandonment. But this is who I am. It's what I am. I hunt. I kill.
The shower revealed just how many scrapes, scratches, and bruises I had managed to get. The cut over my eyebrow wasn't bad, and the bite had closed over, but the deep gouge in my shoulder was still seeping blood. I covered it and grabbed a towel before I walked out to talk to Curtis. He offered coffee and booze. Smart man.
We talked. It was a conversation I didn't want to have. Not really. It was admitting that we had changed, that something had changed enough we needed to take it out and talk about it. I hate talking about how I feel, more than I hate most things. But the words were said and they can't be unsaid. We love each other. In ways that we shouldn't and that aren't going to make life any easier. We talked about what that meant, and ran in circles with it. I was too tired. My body hurt.
Finally I told him the truth about my research, that I was finding a way to remove the hunter genes in me. He asked if it would work for him, and I honestly didn't know. In theory it should. It worked on a vampire, once. One of Alistair's friends. It was petty of me but I wanted to know. He was only one of other humans I had killed.
Curtis reluctantly let me take his blood. Morning began to arrive and we crawled into bed. I needed a few hours of sleep. At least two. Just enough that my hunter genes that I so wanted to get rid of would start to heal me. It was the first time I had slept beside someone who knew I loved them since I was a teenager. It was terrifying and comforting and I was afraid for the future, more than I had been in a decade.
Listen
Sunday, 19 June 2016
In Which the Water Gets Muddier
Dear Diary,
What do you do when love shows up and you don't have a shelf to
put it on or a grave to dig it in? You do the thing that the person you love
would disapprove of. Or what would hurt them. In my case, I left. Curtis was
sleeping, hell, he even looked happy in his dreams, which never happens, and I
took off. I went to exactly the place I knew he'd hate. I went to see Solomon.
Solomon was home and he was... well, smooth. He said I could stay
and started playing the boyfriend I didn't want. He and Phoenix had been
hanging out, maybe the demon gave him some of his own moves. The dirtbag
brought some whiskey out and asked me what was going on. I didn't talk much. I
had a few drinks and then climbed into his bed. He followed.
Maybe I was just tired or something, but I didn't say no. I
should've known that it wasn't him. With him, and well, pretty much everyone,
I'm always in charge. Letting someone else have that power over me just isn't
in my wheelhouse. I can't trust anyone that much. But he wouldn't play my game,
not this time. It was so different. It was nice, even, to be able to just not
give a fuck and let go. I needed to be numb.
The fucking wizard almost made it worth it. Towards the end I
began to feel exhausted, and a little nauseated. We barely finished before I
felt my body get that heavy, bad feeling of being drugged. I'm sure I must've
mumbled something or cursed his fucking name. I know I smashed the bottle
trying to grab it to throw at his face. But all I managed to do was drop it on
the floor and fall down beside it. I heard him talk then, different but the
same. Carla. That fucking body snatching bitch.
Beneath the Paulson building is a bunch of old labs. They've been
updated in the last five years, but they're still not as well ventilated as
they should be, and they're colder than a witch's tit. Florence was standing by
one of the computers looking at the screen and then going to her laptop and
making notes.
I'm sure I yelled or something. I definitely wanted to puke. But
at this point, my adrenaline was kicking it up a few notches and I tried to
break out of the things that were holding me down. I'm sure I swore a tonne.
Florence just looked at me, that same calm look in her eyes she always had. She
muttered something about being sorry and stuck a needle just above my hip. Pain
ripped into me. It wasn't... unlike... what Curtis had done to me when I got
ghoulplague.
From what I could see, my skin and the organs around it began to
rot. Everything discoloured and it felt like burning and ripping and shredding
from inside of me. She's lucky the room's fucking soundproof. Then it stopped,
just for a lingering moment before it began to change and reverse, as though
time was being rewound around the injection site. It hurt. It hurt more than a lot
of things I've felt.
Hours passed. She's stick me with a new needle, probably a
stronger dose, then take a sample. She'd take a sample of the same tissue and
blood once the area had regenerated. Repeat. Not a question was answered, not a
single glance to my eyes as she tried to kill me over and over again. After a
couple hours, she dosed me with something to make me sleep.
I woke up to the lab ceiling still looking back at me. My bonds
were tighter. I started to pull at them when Flo looked up towards the door.
When I glanced over, I saw Curtis rushing in with Maeve. Panic washed through
me. I didn't want anything to happen to him. I was happy as hell to see him, to
even get to see him before whatever ghoul disease she injected me with killed
me, but I didn't want him here. Not with Carla. And not with Florence.
Maeve convinced Florence to let me go as Curtis was ready to tear
into her. A bottle was slung into the room from the door. Then time... just...
stopped. A molotov cocktail headed directly towards Flo and myself was just
hanging in the air. Flo didn't move. But Curtis, Maeve, and I did. I stared at
him in slight terror. Whatever he was becoming, whatever his power was changing
to, I was afraid for him. I knew what happened when power overwhelmed. It was
never good. Or human.
He yelled at me for not saying thanks as I got out of the bonds
and went to the computer to snag the data that Flo had been working on. If I
had to bleed, at least it would be for a good reason. Curtis grabbed the
cocktail and put it into fire containment before just... releasing time. Maeve
had run after whoever had thrown the bottle.
Curtis interviewed Florence while I got the data. I threatened
her. She didn't seem to care. She seemed to want to protect humanity by
figuring out how I was immune to ghoul plague (thank fucking god Curtis made me
immune). When I got the info I told Curtis he should leave. He reluctantly did
and I grabbed one of the bottles from the contained substances cabinent using
Florence's key.
Quietly I drew up a syringe. It was enough to kill a cow. Not that
she was a cow. But I didn't want to fuck it up again. The last time I had
killed someone this way was the day I had become a hunter. My mother was on IV
fluids after my boyfriend had stabbed her while possessed by a demon. I still
remember him smiling at me. "Hello Lover."
There was no other way. She would've continued experimenting on
people, next time not me, and I couldn't let her do that. I couldn't let her go
to the police either, not with the research she had done. It had to be
destroyed, removed from the lap and deleted. I bit my bottom lip and prepared
to inject her.
Then my phone fucking rang. Merov was on the other end. He wanted
to talk. I told him I was busy and I'd see him after I killed Carla/Solomon. He
agreed, and while I was talking to him, I slid the needle inside of Florence's
arm. She screamed and cried for help. Some part of me I had thought was dead
died all over again but I just talked to Merov. Like it was normal. Because
what else do you do when you're murdering someone?
The rest of the lab was wiped and I put the samples into the
incinerator. Curtis was talking to Maeve about how she let the old soul wizard
get away. She had this... soul gel... that was Carla's and it let her see Carla
wherever she... they... were. At the moment they were in the fae world causing
panic and disorder. Maeve seemed almost pleased. Curtis seemed panicked.
I dropped him at Yellow 10 and told him I'd meet him for some
drinks after I spoke to Merov. Worst decision. I showed up at the park after
Gaspard told me where he was just to see him rip out the heart of a demon amber
thing and, well, fucking devour it. In front of Derek.
It took a lot of will power to get out of the car and not just
shoot an arrow at Merov's ass. Or head. I'm sure I must've stared at him
because he seemed to know I wasn't comfortable. There was blood on his hands
and his face, his mouth... I tried to talk a few times and came up a little
empty handed. Merov said something to Derek, who seemed to think he had been
possessed by a demon.
The mortal scampered off and Merov and I walked through the park.
The sound of his werelions ripping the demon apart could be heard no matter
where we walked. The sickening crunch of bone and the shearing of connective
tissue followed in my wake. The acrid smell of blood was on the air, combined
with viscera and offal. Or whatever demons ate.
He informed me the amber chrysalis' were hatching, and amber
vampire demons were crawling out. It wasn't really my problem, but there wasn't
a reason to tell me this if he didn't want me to go solve the problem. It
wasn't a bad time to ask. The news of Boston's suddenly supernatural revival
had found a few more hunters in the city than normal. Not that we have
conventions. We just like to be around when shit hits the fan.
I, in turn, let Merov know about Maeve's plan, and my role in it.
That I was to cause trouble and I was going to interpret that to kill the fae
queen. Maeve would naturally try to take that power, and I was hoping Merov
would. It was a test. He said he wanted to see the city brought to order and
justice. Using fae power for good was one hell of a way to do that.
But he didn't want to. He wanted to wait and called me a storm or
wanting to go in guns blazing. My phone kept buzzing while he was talking to
me, and it was Curtis. I silenced it and finally gave in to what he was saying.
He wanted me to wait. Fine. I'll wait. Until Maeve comes knocking for all the
favours I owe her fae ass. Maybe I'll be dead by then.
Despite my best efforts to stay calm, the sound of dying and
munched demon and the fact that Merov still... had just eaten a fresh heart...
made me want to leave. More than anything. I wanted to get the thought of
fucking Carla out of my head, or being drugged and tortured, or how I had
killed Florence... or whatever the fuck I was feeling for Curtis... entirely
out of my body.
Normally I would've done this with fucking by my booty calls were
getting low and my usual safe bet was someone I was having fuzzy feelings
towards who was turning into some sort of ... I don't even know what controls
time. But it's not good. That's real power. The kind of power that gets you
killed. Or turns you into the villain.
For a split second Merov was a temptation. Curtis had said he was
a mistake but Merov's got one thing in spades: sex appeal. Maybe if hadn't just
crunched a fresh heart down.
I went back to the truck and grabbed the holy bow, pulled on my
leather jacket, and headed towards the downtown. My phone buzzed again. I
tucked it in my pocket so I couldn't hear the vibrating anymore. I needed to
concentrate. Mostly so I could kill efficiently. The monster in me was stirring
and with my usual coping mechanism on the shelf, it was time to dance with the
devil, forget who I was, and roll the dice.
Maybe I'd survive the night. Maybe the amber demons would be the
end of me. But they were demons. If there's one thing I'm good at hunting, it's
hell beasts. I can’t hold back what I am anymore. I can’t pretend I’m not
another monster like they are. Even if I want Curtis to see me as more, as a
person, tonight I can’t. Tonight I have to let that control slip and let the
beast inside of me have a battle.
Sunday, 12 June 2016
In Which Shit Gets Complicated
Dear Diary,
It seems, lately, like every concrete decision I’ve
made is beginning to come undone. I know they say everything does that.
Everything falls apart. And really, most things have. Everything’s fallen apart
at some point. Sometimes it comes back, or gets better. Mostly I just try to
adapt to the new definition of who I am after the storm and keep going.
I don’t fall in love. Not anymore. It’s a pipe dream I
gave up on after I got to see Jack get with Shanice and have a good, healthy
relationship. I mean, they’re not without their problems, but they don’t really
worry about werewolves or dragons. Fuck. Dragons.
Merov won the fight. He’s consolidating power. I want
to believe that he’s doing it for the good of the city, but it makes my skin
crawl. There’s a burning intensity to him that’s impossible to look away from.
Maybe it’s because I’m inherently drawn to burning disasters and things that’ll
tear me apart from the inside, but I can’t help but want to see more. Not of
him, necessarily. But of what he’s going to do. It’s a volcano I want to feel
the heat of.
Curtis and I left the werelion party after Merov was
named king. The dragon gave me a look, almost of curiosity, and we shared a
glance before Curtis and I bailed. The plan was to go home and have a whiskey
or ten and try to sleep knowing the city would be on fire tomorrow. But Curtis
wanted to go somewhere else.
He asked about my family. I guess because I mentioned
killing my mom that he wanted to know the real question: Did she deserve it? She
didn’t I killed her because I wanted the power to stop things from getting
worse. I have that power. It’s not worth getting into the cost of that power,
but it’s mine.
I needed to get home and sleep because I needed to go
after Carla (Turns out she jumps bodies ,the nasty bitch) and go figure out why
Florence was getting her thin fingers into my research. But Curtis had been
shot at and was brooding over Merov, so I said sure. We went out to this island
he was super into and hung out watching the water.
It was… fuck, I hate saying this, but it was almost… tender? I know he’s scared
and I’m scared of losing him, but we’re not usually sweet with each other.
Curtis is, besides being probably the closest friend I have, a good lay. We get
the shortness of life, or at least, that it could fall apart. There isn’t time
for attachment and holding on to someone and asking for love when all you can
give is an uncertain future and a tumble in bed. We get that about each other.
More than almost anyone else.
But for once, we talked about… the past. We have an
unspoken rule of not asking and not telling. We asked. We told. It felt good to
talk about parts of myself I never even look at anymore let alone acknowledge.
It also meant that he could find out what a monster I was. The horrible things
I’ve done. That I’m not really the good person most people think I am.
We talked about his past and what made him, to some
extent, him. I didn’t realize the depth that Curtis has had his life fucked
with. It sounded like people like hurting him. Or forcing him into corners
until there aren’t any options left. It’s even how Merov treats him.
It was nice. It was a moment. A moment that wasn’t in
time and didn’t belong in our lives but it was a moment. It reminded me of when
I used to date people at the thought of being more than just fuck buddies. The
sweet little moments that you go home with after and think about with a stupid
grin on your face. I know what that meant.
When we got home, we ended up doing what we usually
did when the world was out of control: we had sex. Maybe it was the island or
the fact that he had been shot just a few days ago or that the world was
changing around us, but it was different. I tried not to let it be but I could
feel that it was.
After, I asked him what Merov meant to him. I can feel
that whatever the future holds will involve Merov, and usually when that
happens, I end up killing someone. I didn’t want to see Curtis get involved in
that. He told me that Merov was a big mistake to him. I’m not… sure what that means or
what it’s supposed to mean.
Then Curtis looked at me and asked what he was to me.
It was a moment I wasn’t expecting. We have a solid
understanding of what we are. We’re friends. Friends who get that the world is
ending and our time is limited and match well sexually. But friends. The words
didn’t want to leave my lips though. I didn’t want to say friends because after
today and maybe after seeing Curtis shot by that bitch I knew something wasn’t
as it had been.
I can’t fall in love. It’s not in the cards and it’s
out of the playbook and it’ll just open me up (and Curtis) to new attacks.
Maybe if things were different. Maybe if I can make a cure. Maybe if a lot of
things…
I said “We’re friends.”
He was glad we’re on the same page.
I wanted to stay and sleep but my skin felt like it
was crawling and all I wanted to do was go beat something up until my brain had
gotten rid of the fog. When Curtis was asleep I got up and let him in the only
way I knew how. I found my old journals and left them out for him. And left my
key. It’s a thing we do, to make sure that nothing can get in while I’m gone.
I have to find Carla. I have to stop Florence. And I
need to remind myself that life can’t be this. So I’m going to Solomon’s. To
remember. To stay grounded. And to get him to bring me to Carla.
In Which The Lions Lay Down and Take It
Dear Diary,
Living with Curtis is sometimes like living in a dorm.
Every time it feels like there could be a moment of peace either someone's
shooting at us or someone's at the door wanting his advice. I try not to ask
him much. I don't want to know the future, especially mine, and that means not
asking certain questions. We have a mutual respect for silence, or at least,
for not asking questions.
This morning as I was trying to find the courage to
get Curtis to tell me about Merov, Maeve knocked. I wouldn't let her in the
house because fuck that irritating fae, but then there was this weirdo in the
bushes taking pictures, and Curtis freaked out because Carla, and dragged Maeve
inside. Fae. My second least favourite things.
We sat in the living room and Maeve consulted Curtis
like you would any neon light street psychic about her future. Why he puts up
with her shit I'll never know, but for whatever reason, the pixie listens to
him. To the point of it being both frustrating and amusing. If he says
"Save x" she will, but she'll also leave any other victim to die.
Today's mystery was: "How do I get back into the
courts?" Curtis' response, and I could have smacked him, was that she was
supposed to lead all the fae, not just her court, into a new age. She could do
this in one of two ways, either live long and prosper, or cause a big threat
that would unite the fae beneath her.
Now Maeve is a little intense and very, very fae. I
didn't go to a party once, because there was a corruption demon invading family
homes, and hey, suddenly I'm the bad guy and I owe her. Also, I hate fae. Or
maybe I don't, I'm not sure. Ever since I let Robin Redcap out and he started
ripping people apart, which was, well, my fault, I've never felt at peace with
them. I'm sure some of them were nice. Maybe.
To clear my name off of Maeve's hit list, I agreed to
help stir shit in the fae world. It's a bad idea, but at this point I just want
to be done with her, and the sooner I'm out of the fae's debt the sooner I can
stick a cold iron knife in her and move on.
While Curtis had taken my mom's ring off (it helped
keep the visions away), I asked him about Merov. I shouldn't have. And I
instantly regretted it, but it was already past my lips by that time. I hate
pulling favours on Curtis. It feels like I'm bullying him and it makes me feel
gross inside. He seems used to people doing it, but we're friends. I shouldn't
be the one asking.
However, Curtis told me that Merov was a dragon. A
mother fucking dragon. Landing on the shores of our time or something poetic.
But a dragon. I still haven't quite figured out how to digest that information
or what the fuck it means. Merov is as human looking as I am, and while I admit
there's something about him I don't understand, dragon seems... I don't know,
far fetched? I must've stared at Curtis for several minutes before I decided I
had to go ask him.
Dragon. It made sense, in a way. He acted as eager to
collect power, even subtly so, as any other clever monster I had ever met. I
felt like an idiot to have been so easily caught in his plans. With Maeve
there, I didn't feel safe leaving Curtis by himself so I tried to convince her
to go. That's when we noticed a hand taking photos with a camera on the
balcony.
It was Deslee, the little gossip girl of the
supernatural world. I grabbed onto her and lifted her up so that she wasn't
hanging on anymore and told her to quit it. She proceeded to take a picture of
me, so I dropped her. Curtis gave me a look and I decided not to talk about it.
We walked outside to make sure she wasn't seriously hurt and Carla was there.
The fire burned like a bitch, but I got a shot off
before it hit me. It'd been awhile since someone had used magic on me. Her body
got tossed down to the eyeball, who also, well, made the fire jump to other
buildings. Curtis called 9-1-1-. Maeve touched me and healed me a little, which
I'm sure comes with a debt. She wanted me to promise to be loyal to her. I told
her to fuck off. I refuse to be a knight to some wanna be queen.
Curtis, and our new sidekick Maeve, came with us as we
went to talk to Merov. He wasn't home, so we sat, and drank. Maeve drank more
than, well, anyone. You'd think the fae could hold their liquor, but not that
woman. Curtis and I, well, we got in a bit of an argument via text because I
didn't want to talk about it with Maeve there. I hate her seeing me weak.
We talked about how I was angry Curtis hadn't told me
about ghoul plague, but instead, went to Merov, who's been proving to be more
and more dangerous. Merov finally arrived, stinking of... sewage and death, and
started stripping while I tried to talk to him. Between mostly naked Merov and
Maeve's snide comments, all I could really manage was accusing him of some sort
of... I don't even know, really. Conquering? Taking over the city?
He assured me that I wasn't wrong, but that my
thoughts on his intention were wrong. He wants to do good and make the city a
safer place. I couldn't argue with him, and I hope he's telling the truth. My
entire instinct is telling me to shove a sword in him as deep as I can and then
cut off his pretty head, but I can't. He's been a friend to me, as much as I
have friends, in the last few months.
Merov said something to Curtis about him seeing
visions, mostly about his own death, and then Curtis lost his shit and bolted.
Rightfully so. Merov doesn't get it. How much it hurts Curtis, how much pain he
endures just seeing glimpses of the future. He sees a lot of death. He's afraid
of his power, it seems, as much as he uses it regularly. Or, well, it uses
him.
I followed him out and left Maeve behind. We talked in
the elevator about Merov's douche baggery and then drove to find Derek. Merov
had said something about Derek finding his girlfriend. I know how it feels to
pull someone out of another realm. As we got in the truck Curtis asked me:
"yes or no?" I asked if it was sexy or not, he said maybe, so I said
yes. He texted something and then laughed. Kid's a weirdo sometimes.
Derek was frantic as we arrived and tried to brush off
the importance of his girlfriend being back. He wanted to go to some werelion
fight over who'll be the next king of lions instead of staying with his
partner. I kept asking what the hell would actually be more important than her
being back and he was being evasive. When I tried to tell him he had to be
careful or he'd end up like me, I ended up letting it out that I had killed my
mom to become a hunter.
He feels powerless. He feels like people don't take
him seriously. And that's a good thing. I wish he could see how bad it is to
want to make a difference in an unnatural world. All that's going to happen is
him ending up like me, or ending up in a coffin. I can't be constantly there to
pull him out of fires he's not even telling me he's walking into. I wish I
could save him. But I know he needs to make his own choices when it comes to
how much he wants to be in this world and I need to... respect that.
Curtis called Maeve and the drunk fae came over to
watch over Derek's partner, then the tree of us went to the epic lion-fight. As
we walked in, the tone changed. Mostly because they hate me and while I don't
take it personally, they do. Merov was there, with his fucking sword, and this
look on his face I'd seen once before. It was the same look he had with the
amber vampires.
A chill swept through me as I leaned against the wall
and just watched. Watching another person fight is like getting a glimpse into
your future and getting a chance to change the outcome. Fighting reveals so
much about people. It tells you their weaknesses, their strengths, and
their speed. Merov is fast enough. But the lions fight MMA style. Hard and
solid hits, not fast. Still, the dragon... (fuck that's weird)... held his own
against the woman.
It was brutal and fast. Merov has fire, like a
mother-fucking dragon. But fighting takes power out of him. He's built...
differently, than I am. I am power. It's just part of me. I don't need to use
it to kill the assholes I hunt. But it doesn't extend beyond being a little
faster, a little stronger, a little tougher than you're average bear. This was
entirely different. Except it left him vulnerable. It would've been the ideal
moment to kill him.
The werelion was defeated. He was weak. He was open.
Two seconds and I could have slid the knife from my sleeve and stuck it in his
heart. He looked at me and I looked at him and I didn't move. If anything, his
eyes stopped me. This was Merov. This was the guy I had sat drinking with
retelling hunting stories to and who had always wanted to help me. If was a
dragon, we'd fight. But not today. We'd fight when he wasn't weak. When he had
everything at his disposal. It's a fight I don't know if I'll walk away from.
The werelions accepted their new king. The city is
changing. And it's Merov who's gonna be holding the reigns.
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