One Broken Legacy

Chapter 4: Town and Terror

Ridgemond was nothing to brag about. If you imagine the town square from a cheesy eighty's movie, you wouldn't be far off. There was a moderately large green area with trees and benches that faced a small theater. I had to admit, it was a peaceful place. For as large as this town was, it was divided between the upper-class snobs that I had escaped from and the wilder side of town that was home.

Werewolves were some of the best Coth when it came to mixing with humans. Their transitions were voluntary and other than heightened senses and pack mentality, they were human in every sense.

I waited until the sun was setting before entering the main street to begin my sweep. Wolves, for as good as they were at hiding among humans, had tells. The extra membrane in their eyes focused light, but also reflected it, so they had better night vision. All I had to do was walk until I found someone with glowing eyes, then I would introduce myself and ask for help or at least directions to their packhouse.

Unlike the warm spring breeze, I had grown accustomed to, my jacket did little to protect me from the cold wind. Life would have been so much easier with magic. I ducked into the alley off the main square to escape the chill.

A group of men and women lounged near a beat-up old truck, talking and laughing in the dim light. The faint trace of alcohol found its way to my nose, and I stopped to watch them. Wolves, for the most part, didn't drink. It was taboo.

One of the taller, gangly men saw me and whispered something to his friends. A hush went through the group as all eyes turned to mine.

"What're you doing here, girlie?" a lady in the front asked, her lips pulled into a sneer. She looked like a troll if they did exist.

"Just passing through." I squared my shoulders and made to move to their left. "Ignore me."

"Not so fast. Don't you know it's not safe for humans to be out this late? The damn demons will get you." The foul stench of alcohol burned as two of them drew closer.

"I'm not afraid of the supernatural." I looked at the man. That was my mistake. I had revealed my eyes and glancing back down at my feet did nothing.

"Witch," he jeered, holding his buddy back.

My heart began racing, and I heard the scuff of shoes on the pavement. The streetlight cast shadows that drew dangerously close to me.

"Are you sure she's a witch?" A third person spoke with a hint of kindness, but I didn't make the mistake of looking for the owner. "She's awfully young and doesn't look like she's harming anyone."

"You know they pretend to be human." The gangly man from before cut the woman off. "It's waiting for its chance."

"I'm just passing through. I don't want trouble. And I'm not a witch."

"You see, she's just walking somewhere. Relax, Peter."

I spared a look from under my eyelashes. A woman, maybe college age, had her hand on a man's shoulder, her eyes trained on me. She didn't look like she belonged to the group.

"I'll relax when they stay away from my town." My blood boiled and I wished I had the power to curse his lips shut.

"I don't plan to stay long." Not with swine like you.

"Peter, you're drunk and not thinking straight. I signed up to protect people, not harass innocent street-goers."

"Shut up, Lana." Peter pushed her hand off his shoulder. "She's a witch. If you see her eyes, you'll know."

"I'm telling you I don't care, as long as she minds her own business."

No one was focused on me. Everyone's attention had turned to the duo bickering in front of us. Peter must have been the honorary leader, but Lana was the brains of the operation.