There was a truck where none should have been.
Tara wondered, Who the hell drives around in this sort of weather? The county cleared Sanctuary Road once a day at most, and the road crew used a huge road grader to do it. The 1970s pickup by the side of the road was a capable four-wheel drive with a plow mounted on the front, but it was still possible to get it stuck when it dumped like this.
Tara crouched down behind a thicket of snow-covered manzanita and studied the truck through a gap in the branches. The snow melted in her hair and trickled down the back of her neck, and her feet were so cold she couldn’t feel her toes.
She’d hoped to kill the hellbeast quickly and get out of this shit. Unfortunately, the occupants of the vehicle were in her way. They had a clear view of the road for a hundred yards in either direction. With her luck, they’d whip their cell phones out and the video would end up online, shortly followed by inconvenient hordes of cryptid hunters descending on Sanctuary Road.
The driver-side door opened, and a young man hopped out. With a start, she recognized Casey Osbourne’s brown hair and solid build. Now alarmed rather than just annoyed, Tara sucked in her breath and held it. Psychologically, that made her feel better, but it would do nothing to hide her presence if Casey had learned to use that annoyingly powerful Gift of his.
Granny had believed the boy to have far more talent than just the “ESP” his friends teased him about — his “mojo” was almost certainly some form of very strong Sight. However, Casey’s father had warned Granny off when she had approached the family to offer training. Granny had been annoyed, as she’d been rejected due to the Bright family’s reputation. Granny was not a Bright, just tied to them unhappily through her granddaughter's child, Tara.
Tara had been relieved. She had wanted nothing to do with Casey since high school. Even though she was two years younger, Casey had tried several times to ‘befriend’ her. There was zero reason, as far as she was concerned, for a jock that much older to want anything to do with an underclassman unless he was a pervert.
Additionally, Casey picked on people constantly. He had a smart remark for everything, and he hazed his friends relentlessly. She would have been horrified and humiliated had he said some of the things to her that he directed at Avery.
She couldn’t help but compare Casey’s teasing of Avery to her own family’s habit of harassing her. Her father and brothers, for example, would call her ‘Jigglepig’ and oink at her during meals, then heap extra servings on her plate. If she didn’t eat everything, she got in trouble for wasting food. If she got mad, she was punished for ‘not being a good sport.’ She had been forced to smile and laugh along with them despite her helpless fury.
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The person getting out on the passenger side of the truck was so short and thin that she thought, at first, they were a teenage girl, especially since they were wearing a purple puffer jacket and pink boots. She recalled her high-school-era concerns about Casey with some alarm.
Casey reached into the snowy bed of the truck and retrieved a katana, a machete, and a pitchfork. Was he intending to pursue the hellhound? Why had he brought a young girl on a monster hunt?
Then the ‘girl’ glanced in Tara’s direction and turned out to be an adult man. She froze, not even breathing, at the sight of his striking features. Her Granny had the same green eyes and pale hair, a legacy of a dai'sheea woman who had crossed the veil to Earth over a century ago and settled here when this land was still a US territory rather than a state. That man, however, was no random refugee elf.
She was certain she had his image saved on her cell phone, courtesy of a picture taken during a scrying session she’d done with the Book of Needs’ help a decade ago. She’d shown the picture to Libby Adrial, and her notably powerful grandson Feric, in hopes of gaining their approval and tutoring from more people than just Granny, but she’d only gotten a frown and a comment that the image was a bit blurry rather than the hoped-for praise. It had been the last time she’d ever tried to impress them.
That scrying remained one of her biggest triumphs. Scrying someone she didn’t know, on another world, using a steel sword once belonging to Esmon as a focus — iron tended to disrupt magic — remained one of her greatest triumphs. Granny had confirmed it had been technically very difficult, and the time differential between worlds had contributed to the distortion in the image. She’d implied that Feric, for all his renowned strength, could do no better.
What was Esmon Adrial doing here? He was supposed to be living a respectable life with his human kin. Something must have gone very wrong in his world.
Also, why was he with Casey Osbourne, and dressed like a girl? ...Well, Casey collected queer friends like some people caught Pokémon. If the little guy were a letter of the alphabet mafia, as suggested by his outfit, that alone might explain the connection with Casey.
A bigger question was, had someone else brought Esmon through a portal, or had he created one himself?
Granny had said then that the prophecy was likely false. Esmon didn’t block their scrying or even react to it, and even the weakest magic users knew when they were being watched. The Book’s eldest spirit, Nadria, had agreed with Granny. However, what if they were wrong? The hair went up on the back of her neck at the thought of a man with that much power loose on Earth: He who has Esmon Adrial’s loyalty shall own the most powerful Gift in seven generations.
If the prophecy were true, Esmon would be a walking weapon.
The elf’s eyes slid past her location with no hint of recognition. The heavily falling snow and the bushes hid her from his keen gaze despite her size. The two men inspected the hellbeast’s tracks where they crossed the road and then began to follow them.
Tara knew she was being stupid when she waited a moment, then slipped after them through the snow. However, she was curious — and genuinely concerned about that prophecy.
