They sat on the floor of the trailer, listening to the wail of the blizzard. A candle burned its scant flame between them, casting their shadows across the ceiling.

Footsteps on the porch. Someone knocked. He jumped. White Owl put a hand on his arm and a finger to her lips. Footfalls back down the steps, the crunching of snow stopped, and nothing else but for the storm.

“Put the silver bullet in your gun,” she whispered and handed him the matchbox.

With shaking fingers, he chambered the bullet.

She nodded when he was done. “Good.” From a pocket, she pulled out a plastic bag that contained a clump of stringy moss and held it over the candle flame until it lit in a soft, blue fire. Black smoke vanished into the dark. A pungent, sweet aroma filled his nose.

“What’s that?” he asked, a little too loudly, his voice cracking.

“Shut up. It’s dryad’s hair. Very rare. From the other side,” she said.

“Smells like cotton candy.”

“It can draw the human out of the beast if they get a good whiff of it.”

“That… that thing. It was a man.”

“Yes, it was. Now it’s dead.”

“I saw it change.”

She nodded and gave a grunt. “Do you believe your own eyes? They call themselves the Hunters.”

“I heard Francis Builds A Fire talking to Dr. Smith. He said the hunters gave him those scars.”

“They did, and now this one is hunting you.”

“Me? Why? I didn’t do anything.”

“Didn’t you?” she spoke, her voice hushed and low. “You were at the concert. You heard the music. The rain got in your eyes. You stole the artifact.”

“The blue guitar,” he whispered. “Builds A Fire Brings the Rain.”

“You like that?” She chuckled quietly. “That was my artistic touch. I ain’t half bad with Photoshop, right?”

“What the fuck is going on, lady? I’m an officer of the law—”

“You still want to haul me to the women’s shelter?”

“I just… I don’t know.”

“Look, kid, now you see things in a different light.”

“Werewolves?”

“Yeah, and were-tigers, and a whole assortment of other nasty were-things.”

“Next, you’re going to tell me there’s dragons.”

“No, not yet, they haven’t made it through,” she said soberly.

“Made it through what?”

“The Veil. The Veil hides what’s hidden. It hides what’s real. It hides the things that this world cannot abide.”

“Like werewolves?”

“No, these monsters are not from the other side. They ar abominations, the creations of the Den. No, they’re not from beyond. Their only goal is to hunt the Maji.”

“Maji? You called me Maji.”

“That’s what you are.”

“Because of Francis, the music, and the rain.”

“Wow. Very good, you’ll make detective for sure.”

The radio on his jacket started to crackle with static: “Hello, this—Sheriff depart—No electric—Hello—Any—out there—”

Then silence.

“Francis and the good doctor got some problems too,” said White Owl.

“We’ve got to help them,” said McGreevy.

“There’s nothing we can do. We have our own mission tonight.”

“I’m going to help them.”

She grabbed his arm like a vise. “We need to kill that thing and get the guitar to safety. As dawn approaches, it will go into a frenzy. It’s a young one, so it’ll try to make a kill before sunrise when the enchantment is at its weakest. I need you to put that bullet in its head. Then, when the sun rises, you’ll need to burn what remains of the bodies. Closer to your house, the better. Burn them to ash.”

“This is the last candle,” he said, lighting it with a match. White Owl produced moss and burned it between her fingers, lighting her face in blue flame. She appeared even older now.

He could not seem to focus on time. They said nothing as the house got colder and the light between them weaker. He jerked when the radio crackled again. Had he fallen asleep?

“Help—out there—This— Sheriff de—Help—Officer down—under attack.” From the background of the radio, he heard what sounded like shattering glass.

“Fuck, we got to help them.” He stood, but White Owl grabbed him and pulled him back down with great force.

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“You’ll never make it to your truck,” she said. “That thing will take you down.”

He lifted his pistol to the side of his face. “I’m going to try. I got your silver bullet in the chamber and ten rounds under that. Headshot, right?” He got to his feet.

“Fine, you crazy fucker,” she said. He thought he saw a smile on her lips.

McGreevy had his hand on the doorknob. They both listened but could hear only the wind. White Owl clutched the silver dagger in her hand. He had attached the flashlight and laser to his sidearm. It would give him the best chance of getting a headshot.

“On the count of three,” he whispered. “One...two...three!”

He shoved the door open and stepped onto the porch. The wind blasted his face, and the snow made him squint. He swept the area with his light, the laser beam tracking in the snow—nothing.

At the foot of the steps was a snowy heap. He could make out the clawed hand of the creature White Owl had killed. He clicked his key fob for his truck. The fog lights blinked, indicating that it was unlocked and the electric engine had started.

“Go, go,” he said, leading the way, stepping over the body, the snow already up to his shins.

He swept the perimeter with his light. What was that? Nothing, only the outline of the apple tree that grew at the edge of the yard.

Once inside, he locked the doors, turned on the headlights, threw the rig into reverse, pulled around, and headed down the long driveway to the edge of the field and the narrow dirt road leading into town. The truck, just the week before, outfitted with heavy snow tires, plowed through the drift.

“There, look out!” shouted White Owl.

In the middle of the road, caught in his beams, stood the figure of a man.

“Step on it, kid. Smash that sonuvabitch.”

The man crouched, and the next thing McGreevy knew, he was slamming on the accelerator, bearing down on the crouching—wolf!

The animal didn’t move; a split second later, he felt the impact on the grille of his truck, followed by a thump, thump as he ran it over.

“Stop,” she said, “you must finish it off. It’ll track you forever if you don’t.”

They stood at the back of the pickup truck, bathed in the red glow of the taillights, McGreevy with his gun, White Owl with her silver dagger.

“It’s gone,” he said.

The snow was stained dark with blood where it had struggled for a moment. There was a trail where it had crawled out into the open field.

“Trust me, it ain’t gone, but it looks like you hurt it pretty bad.”

“You think it’ll die?”

She laughed, “Nope, you need to find it.”

“Shit,” he whispered to himself.

His nose and cheeks were numb where the flakes struck his face as he edged down the already vanishing trail in the heavy snow. Ten yards out, he looked back the way they’d come—the truck was already obscured. A few more yards, and he thought he saw something. He swung the beam of his light from side to side until he saw the eyes. Two yellow orbs peered at him, accompanied by a deep, menacing growl. The eyes vanished. He moved forward to find the empty place where it had been. It was as if someone had tossed a bucket of blood across the snow.

“Don’t hurt me,” came a voice from the frozen dark—not a man’s deep voice but a child’s.

“Do not listen to it, kid,” hissed White Owl.

“Shhh,” McGreevy hushed her.

“I’m hurt real bad.” It sounded like the voice came from behind them now.

“Fuck, what have I done?” He swept the light in a circle.

“It’s deceiving you,” warned White Owl. “It came to kill, and kill it will. Unless we get it first.”

The creature whimpered, farther out now, to the right. He cast his light in that direction and started walking. “Let me help you,” he called.

“Please help me,” came the faint reply. It was crying.

A vivid memory encroached upon his mind of when he was a child, and bullies had attacked him. They had hurt him so bad that he couldn’t walk, and no one had come. He had to drag himself into the showers and wash off the blood. When he told the monitors at the ranch, they didn’t believe him or didn’t care to do anything.

“Back, you dog!” yelled White Owl. “Don’t let it get into your mind, kid.”

He ignored her. “Hello?” he called out. “Let me help you.”

“I’m here,” came the voice, softer now.

Panic rose through him. What have I done?

He started running, leaving White Owl behind.

“Where are you?” he cried. “Call out to me?”

“Here. I’m over here. Please don’t hurt me.”

He ran in the direction of the voice. “I’m not gonna hurt you. We gotta get you to the hospital.”

Up ahead, he saw the vague outline of its form and ran toward it.

The boy was standing, holding his thin arms around his body, trying to conserve warmth. He was naked and shaking. One hand went down to cover his exposed privates.

McGreevy felt sick to his stomach. The boy couldn’t be older than fifteen or sixteen, small and weak… like he was at that age.

“I’m scared,” said the boy, a hand going up to shield his eyes from the light.

McGreevy held his pistol slant, unable to plant the bead of the laser on such a vulnerable child. “Can you walk to me?” he said. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

“What?” said the boy.

“Walk this way, steady. We’ll get you warmed up. What’s your name?”

The teen began to approach. He had scars all over his body and a giant bruise up his right side.

“My name? I… I…”

He put down his hand. McGreevy saw the animal glint of his eyes—the reflection that human eyes can never make. The kid’s body rippled, every muscle standing out. He stopped and growled.

“Shoot him in the head!” shouted White Owl.

The boy crouched and let out a scream that chilled McGreevy’s blood. Just as the young wolf, now fully changed, sprang, he planted the bead of the laser on its muzzle full of fang and frothy fury.

BANG!

The animal dropped and was still. The naked youth settled in the snow.

A weary wave washed over him. He fell to his knees and started to cry silently, so the bullies could not hear him, the way he had not done in many years since leaving the ranch.

White Owl passed him and looked down at the body. “Nice shot. It’s dead.” She shook her head. “Sometimes we have to make a sacrifice.”

----------------------------------------

A block away from the sheriff’s station, they saw the lights of a dozen police cars. “Stop here,” said White Owl. He pulled into the parking lot of a pet store. They watched an ambulance pull into the station, followed by a fire truck. “You can’t tell anyone about tonight,” she said. “They’ll kill you for sure. Did anyone see you at the concert?”

“No,” he said. “I… I got out. I went out the back and went straight home. Deputy Wolf is covering for me.”

“Alright then, you need to assume anyone left alive down there is compromised.”

“But the… the werewolves… the hunters, they found my house.”

“They were following the residue of the guitar’s enchantment. That’s over now. But you need to get the guitar fixed and get it back to Francis before the next concert. It’s gonna be in Billings—soon, I think.”

“Can’t they find me again, the same way?”

“No, congratulations. His music hides you. That’s why Builds A Fire is so dangerous to them. He can hide the Maji. He can make them safe.”

“What do I do?”

“Go in there and tell them you heard the call and came as soon as you could. There’ll be a cover-up, so they’ll try to get rid of you. Go home and make a fire. Make it hot. Burn those bodies down and let the snow cover them.”

White Owl opened the door and got out of the truck.

“Then what? What do I do?” He could hear the pleading in his own voice.

“You think you are weak and cowardly. No, you are not. But your nightmare is not over. It hasn’t even started yet. At the darkest hour, you will see the light, and you will know.” The wind picked up and blew her wild hair so it blended with the snow. “Maji rising!” she said into a gust, and she was gone.

Collin McGreevy started his truck and drove slowly in the direction of the station. Men in black, shouldering rifles, were running to and fro. Black SUVs were parked along the side of the road, and the whole scene was lit in the flashing red, white, and blue of emergency lights.