McLily worked his magic. Not the real kind of magic – like when he stays unnoticed behind you for hours or makes your food look like a frog just before you bite into it. This time, he didn’t rely on illusions. Just his trademark posh and arrogant bullshit.
‘Significant,’ his nickname, was the clan’s way of mocking him, but over time, it began to ring true. You can’t mock the Earl’s assistant and expect him to help you get out of custody.
This time, McLily’s ‘magic’ protected Logan in a strange way. His captors were stunned by the reception their boss arranged for him. No cell at first, no interrogation room. It didn’t even resemble a typical interrogation; instead, it felt like a casual inquiry, with tea and biscuits served as they sat on a comfortable leather couch inside the local PSS chief’s office. The special squad governor was unexpectedly polite yet thorough. Logan kept himself occupied with biscuits, working through a basket or two. Somewhere between the first and third teapot, he ran out of stimulants. The borrowed power left him completely, and from then on, everything became a hazy blur.
He woke up with enormous pressure on his bladder, finding himself in a cell but on the chief’s couch. The door was open, and it was midday on Tuesday – not Friday, as he had half-expected – thanks to the tea. After tending to his bodily needs, he wrapped up his business with the PSS – it took some time – and headed home.
Late in the evening, Logan drove his Cooper through six counties in six hours, most of the journey cloaked in darkness. He arrived home just before sunrise, the sky tinged with gray and faint pink over Avok. Parking his car near the new five-story building, mostly inhabited by young families, he sneaked into his apartment unnoticed.
Inside, he paused at the crib where his sweet Joanna lay, sleeping peacefully. Logan suppressed the urge to hug the baby and quietly undressed, trying to slip into bed without waking anyone. But this didn’t sit well with Jenny.
His wife, who only slept soundly nestled against his chest, had developed trouble sleeping after being kidnapped by werewolves. As Logan slid his hairy leg under the blanket, Jenny shuddered, her eyes snapping open wildly. Before Logan could speak, she retrieved the Bulldog revolver from under her pillow, aiming it squarely at him.
Logan instantly grabbed the gun, blocking the hammer.
“It’s me,” he whispered urgently. “Logan, honey! It’s Logan.”
“What the hell, Logan!” she whispered harshly. “Stop sneaking home like that, or I swear I’ll shoot you one day.”
“Love you too, honey,” he whispered back, kissing her forehead.
She released her grip on the gun, and Logan placed it carefully on the nightstand before attempting to get comfortable.
“That’s all?” Jenny asked angrily. “Just one kiss? You haven’t been home for a month!”
“I’m exhausted,” Logan tried to excuse himself.
“And I’m on the verge of reporting your behavior to the women’s committee.”
Logan winced. Dealing with the committee was a nightmare for married clan men.
“I’ve never laid a hand on you!” he objected.
“You’ve done worse. You’ve practically abandoned me! You missed Joanna’s birth, and I can literally count the days you’ve been home since then. She’s turning a year old next month!” Jenny’s whisper grew harsher and louder until she caught herself and hushed, worried she might wake the baby.
Logan froze, but Joanna stayed silent.
Before Jenny could unleash her frustration again, Logan pulled her closer with his left hand, gave her a long kiss, and squeezed her breast with his right.
“Uh! Uh!” Jenny squirmed. “Milk! Bullocks, Logan!”
A couple of thin milk streams sprayed onto him, the blanket, and the bedsheet.
“Sorry!” he said quickly, releasing her. Both of them sat up, fumbling with pillows to clean the mess.
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Jenny said, leaning toward him and pressing her forehead against his unshaven cheek. “Sorry about that. I’m just… I’m not fully awake yet.”
“You shouldn’t be,” he said, hugging her. “It’s what? Four? Five o’clock in the morning?”
“Love you,” she said and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Get some sleep.”
"It would be much more satisfying if I knew you’re not angry at me anymore."
“I’m not.”
“Really? Show me!” Logan stretched his legs, grabbed Jenny, and made her sit on his hips. Then he fell back on the pillow. “I’m too tired, but you seem to have some extra energy.”
Jenny chuckled, being pleased, and made herself comfortable.
“Logan Gregor Kincaid,” she said, “you’re such a lazy dick.”
“Yes,” he replied. “I’m happily married.”
Simple words, yet they brought joy to Jenny. She put in some extra effort with her hips to prove him right – perhaps a little too much. They ended up waking Joanna, but it turned out for the better. Logan had the chance to cuddle his daughter before falling asleep.
He slept all day, waking up late at night out of hunger, with Jenny nestled on his hairy chest. He moved her easily, finding her calm and sleepy this time, murmuring something as he did so. She woke up later and followed him to the kitchen as he wolfed down the feast Jenny had prepared for him: a giant black pudding, a basket of freshly baked buns, roasted chicken, tomato bean stew, and several bottles of locally brewed beer.
Jenny stepped into the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe, smiling at his wolfing.
“You’re gonna choke yourself,” she remarked.
“It’s delicious!” he munched, clenching his teeth on the wing, crushing chicken bones and easily chewing them. Then he took a bite of a bun, a spoonful of beans, and a piece of pudding, washing it all down with a generous sip of beer. “Love you, honey!”
“Really? You should show me that,” she joked. “Seems like you’re the one with some extra energy tonight.”
Logan froze for a moment, then took a sip and wiped his hands and mouth. He left the table.
“You haven’t finished.”
“I’ll finish later,” he said, lifting her up. He moved towards the bedroom but stopped and put Jenny down. “We’re gonna wake her again.”
“Are we?” Jenny asked.
“Yes,” Logan answered.
Jenny pointed to the couch in the living room. Logan considered it and shook his head, instead pointing to the child’s room. It was still half-empty, with only a commode and a couple of shelves. Logan sneaked into the bedroom and returned with a blanket.
“I’m a married woman,” Jenny chuckled. “I hoped the times when we did that on some sheet in a dark, empty place were long gone.”
Logan returned her joke. “We can make it on the kitchen table, like all the young parents are supposed to. But you’ll have to wait until I clean it.”
“I’m not fond of waiting,” Jenny said, taking the blanket from his hands.
Then they had a great night. Much better than they did in her father’s garage.
The next day, Logan woke up before noon, feeling okay for the traditional visits. They – Logan, Jenny, and Joanna – had lunch at her parents’ and supper at his.
Duncan once said to him that taking more than one visit per day was a mortal challenge for him. But Duncan was a wizard, not a wolfhound shifter. Logan had no trouble stuffing himself with the food both mothers prepared for him and drinking all the alcohol the fathers offered. It usually made him a little clumsy for a short while, but it was the best time and place to be clumsy.
It felt almost like being in heaven, eating Mom’s pies and listening to her arguing with his sisters. Though it was an idealistic picture with missing pieces. Duncan was the first one, but Duncan was safe in Farnell as far as Logan knew.
Then there were – or were not – Burk, Evan, Sally…
The last one was unexpected. Sally preferred hospital jobs, and yet she and Kris, her husband, had started actively hunting again, leaving their son with grandparents. Not with Evan, Sally’s father, because he hunted even more than Logan these days.
All the clan warlocks had gone rogue, searching for new trophies for their patron. Another Big War was in the air, and they tried to gain more power as soon as possible.
Stolen story; please report.
Logan was a shifter, not a warlock, so he didn’t depend on Ferrish’s pittances. All he needed to gain power was good training.
He resumed it the next day, starting with something simple: running. He picked the task of changing the gemstone accumulator at the closest power spot, took his knife, rifle, and backpack, and ran into the Bremor woods.
After three weeks of driving, the cool breeze was a welcome relief, though it left him sweaty due to the previous lack of activity. The spot he chose was the closest one to the clan living areas – the Ancient Stones – imbued with earth magic. It was also the oldest one, and held sacred meaning for the clan. The flow of magic in the area caused the ground to become rocky and unstable, shifting large rocks around, swallowing some, and spitting out others. Although not immediately noticeable, the slow process proved useful to the early clan members for burying their dead. They developed a short and crude ritual, using simple words that allowed the earth to swallow the body quickly.
Gemstone accumulators were discovered later, after the cemetery had already been formed. The use and the profit were too significant to let it remain just a magical graveyard. Logan first paid his respects to his ancestors by spilling a little whiskey on the stone-hard ground. Then, he gathered all the corundums, citrines, and quartz charged with earth magic. They were scattered all over the largest rocks, with a few of the rocks deliberately left vacant for meditation. However, Logan only knew of Duncan, who used to meditate in that area. One of the covered rocks shifted during the night, causing half of the gemstones on its top to slip to the ground. Most of them were half-sunk into the rocky ground already. Logan pried them out with his knife.
According to the list, two were missing with no trace on the ground, and Logan considered it unproductive to dig around with his knife. He replaced the batch with the empty gemstones from his backpack and then headed home. In the past, he could practice shooting on the run. However, in the current atmosphere of heightened alertness, any shooting within the shooting range would alarm the clan members. After all, patience is one of the most useful characteristics for a hunter, and he had restored most of his during his rest. Additionally, the run was quick enough for him to still make it to the shooting range after submitting the charged batch of accumulators.
Returning home, he felt a familiar faint whiff of expensive cologne in the lobby. He knew that cologne, and McLily knew he would recognize it. There were four hunters Bryan could visit here. As far as Logan knew, the other three were currently out of town.
“Take it easy,” Logan thought. “It could be just a friendly visit.”
Logan hadn't been to the pub yet, and McLily was one of his best drinking buddies. Though it was much easier to arrange a meeting through the telephone. It wasn’t a good sign, especially since McLily's cologne was the strongest at Logan's door. It was definitely a bad sign.
“Honey, I’m home!” Logan said, putting a fake smile on his face.
McLily’s smell was also inside. They exchanged a few kisses and engaged in some meaningless small talk before Logan asked, "No one called me?"
"No," Jenny answered quickly.
"And no one came in?"
"Ar-r-rgh!" Jenny growled, almost like a dog shifter would. "I suppose you sensed him already." Jenny hated McLily, as it was usually him who brought Logan his hunt orders.
"He asked you for a pub tonight."
"It’s just a pub, honey."
"It better be just a pub, Logan! This month, you are staying home! Am I clear?"
"Yes, ma’am."
"I’m not f-f...reaking joking, Logan!" she said furiously. "When we got married, we had a deal – you hunt one-third of your time, not nine-tenths!"
“No, that was way before. Before werewolves kidnapped you!”
“Yeah! That’s why I want you to be here for me and Joanna!”
“Honey!” Logan looked straight into Jenny’s eyes. “I’m going there because I don’t want them to come here. I’m there to eliminate the threat before it grows!”
“Don’t think I’m stupid, Logan Kincaid! I know this isn’t just some local bickering; the war is coming! And when it does, you will leave us for years!”
That was a direct hit. Logan couldn’t bear her gaze and turned his eyes away.
“We need to get stronger.”
“You’re not a warlock, Logan. Those hunts don’t make you stronger. They make you tired! They make you weaker! You told me you wanted to open your Third Eye. When was the last time you meditated?”
It had been about four weeks ago. Logan preferred not to answer that question.
“Do you remember who saved you?”
“You did.”
“No-o!” Logan shook his head. “First of all, it was Duncan. He came up with a crazy plan when I was whining and crying around. Then there were Bryce, Bryan – whom you hate so much – Nicholas, and many others, even bloody Sean Feron! I owe them, Jenny, with yours and Joanna’s life. That means I owe them my life! I owe it to Bremor! If I can help the clan get stronger, I’ll do it. Besides, when I go, Chloe and Tim will stay here. Your further protection will depend on them.”
“Yeah! After they protect their own families.”
Logan tilted his head in disapproval. Yes, they will worry about their families first, just like any normal person would. But they’d do everything possible to protect other Bremors.
Jenny sighed. “Sometimes I wish you were a simple accountant like your father,” she said and hugged Logan.
He chuckled, hugging her back. His father was the clan head accountant, with professional connections spread deep into His Majesty’s Treasury and wide across the Earth. He wasn’t gifted, but he definitely wasn’t simple. Gordon Muriel Kincaid wielded millions for the clan’s benefit while still living in the same old house his father bought him as a wedding gift. Gordon was a humble man in his home life, which somehow deceived Jenny, but he was a real Bremor hunter in the world of finances.
After some sweet hugging, Logan dialed McLily’s home. With no answer, he had to call the Earl’s secretary, as our Significant already had a little cabinet next to Bryce’s, but no personal secretary yet. She set the drinking at 9 p.m., because ‘mister’ McLily was busy up to 8:30 p.m.
Logan arrived there at 8:50 and took a seat at the bar. Eugene McLal, the owner and bartender, poured him a pint and asked about his last hunt. A couple of guys sat and stood closer to listen to the story. He kept it short, finishing in twenty minutes, just before McLily hurried in. His tweed suit was a little rumpled, just like his tired face.
“Logan,” he greeted, waving a thin paper folder in his hands. Just spotting it, Logan immediately dropped a couple of F-bombs in his mind but kept his face calm, just nodding, so Bryan continued. “Pals, Eugene… As usual.”
“Give your liver a break, boy,” Eugene said.
“It’s not like you have a big choice here,” McLily responded.
“It’s not like you should have dinner here every night.”
“Bollocks, Eugene.”
Bryan was tired and angry – not the best mood to listen to unwelcome advice. Eugene raised his hands in surrender, then poured McLily his pint.
“Your table is free,” the bartender said.
“Bloody hell, Bryan!” Logan said. “A personal table in a pub? Isn’t that a bit much?”
“Shut up, Logan,” he said, pointing with his paper folder toward the stairs. They sat at a corner table on the second floor, tucked behind the empty pool tables. No one was shooting tonight. McLily took a sip and slid the folder to Logan.
“No!” Logan said firmly and slid it back.
“I just got you out of the cell.”
“It only took you a couple of minutes on the phone, while you’re asking me to take another week- or maybe month-long hunt.”
“Nope. I’m asking you to spend a couple of minutes reading this.”
It felt like a trap. McLily was good at guiding his interlocutors into sophisticated traps.
“Bollocks!” Logan said. Opening the folder felt like taking on another job. “What’s in there?”
“You’ll see.”
“No,” Logan said. “Tell me.”
“Sar County,” Bryan said and opened the folder himself. He ran his fingers through the paper forms, handwritten sheets, and photographs held together with paper clips. Bryan pulled out one large photo and slid it to Logan. “Kathy Tower.”
Logan sipped his beer and took a closer look. It wasn’t a girl’s picture; rather, it was a close-up of a mortal wound. The photographer hadn’t cared for her face; only half of it was visible, with one glassy eye and half of her mouth with lips curved in horror. Her pale, bloodied neck dominated the center of the frame. The bite marks were messy but not lethal. Human jaws weren’t so good at penetrating skin. However, there were also several thin, closely spaced, almost identical deep holes, suggesting that the murderer may have missed the carotid artery and had to bite again.
“It’s a nestling,” Logan said, meaning, Why do you need me for this shit?
Nestlings were newborn vampires: weak, unstable, and inexperienced. Without proper training and care, their chance of survival was close to zero. Shit, even the sun could easily burn them to death.
Bryan nodded while sipping his beer. Eugene’s daughter brought him a big plate full of fatty fries and sausages.
“Another beer,” he asked while his mug was only half empty and pounced on the food with enthusiasm that reminded Logan of himself.
“Jeez, Bryan. Do they feed you at all?”
McLily didn’t look unfed. He had even gained an extra pound if you looked closer.
“Bugger off, Logan,” he said, choking on food. “Back to the deal.” He tossed Logan another photo of a happy young family: the young man, the dead girl, and the baby in swaddling. “The man and the baby girl are missing.”
Logan shut his eyes tightly. Raging anger surged in his stomach, and a low growl escaped his mouth. He felt his fangs ready to extend and pierce, his face on the brink of transformation. The despair of those days when he thought he had lost Jenny and his unborn child hit him hard once again. Somewhere in Sar County, a desperate bastard crouched, sickened by his transformation. He had murdered his wife and was now inevitably bound to harm his own baby. They always kill those who love first. In their sick craving for love and blood, it’s almost impossible to distinguish between the two.
“Fuck you, Bryan!”
“Yeah!” McLily chuckled angrily. “Hearing that a lot these days.”
“She’s probably dead already.”
“Probably,” Bryan nodded.
“Send someone else.”
“You were in Sar; you worked with Kaufmann and Hemsworth.”
Logan remembered Summer Hemsworth. She was a low-ranked agent in the Secret Service.
“Who the hell is Kaufmann?” he asked.
“Dave Kaufmann.”
“Hell no! I’m not going to work with a vampire.”
“No, you’re not. Just stay in touch. He is your vampire liaison there. You will work with Tim and Macy.”
“Are you f…!” Logan found himself pissed off.
“She hasn’t claimed a vampire trophy yet, and it’s going to be an easy hunt.”
“Easy? Secret Squirrels, bloodsuckers, a missing baby, so I assume there’s a lot of press involved too. And not only do I have to hunt down a vampire, but I also have to manage it with the help of two overconfident youngsters.”
“You managed it well in Eggleston.”
“Fuck you, Bryan,” Logan said, throwing the photos back into the folder. He stood up abruptly, almost knocking his chair over.
“Don’t forget your reading,” McLily said, closing the folder and lifting it up.
Logan snatched it out of his hands and left the pub.