Chapter 5

“What the fuck are you doing with him, London?”

Brett drew his pistol, but Eron closed the distance and took it away before anyone else could blink.

“Fuck! Asshole!” Brett snapped and glared balefully at Eron.

Eron ejected the magazine and the cleared the round from the chamber before placing the pistol on the kitchen table.

“You’ve gone too far this time, London. Mom and Dad were freaking out about you going missing, but now that you’re hanging out with this subhuman trash—”

“This is your brother? I’m going to shut him up now,” Eron said.

“Wait,” Wytchraven said. “Where’s everyone. I need to talk to Dad. It’s very important.”

“Fuck you and fuck you too!” Brett spat.

Eron moved his head out of the way.

“Just… can you not be a douchebag for two seconds? Lives are at stake! Can you at least tell me where I can find Tony?”

“Screw you, London,” Brett sneered. “You’ve always been a dumb snowflake bitch, but now you’re a traitor.”

“Alright, enough of this.”

Eron manhandled Brett into the walk-in kitchen pantry. The double doors were made of heavy duty steel. He broke the handle and lock mechanism. Then he squeezed the metal around the handles until they were crumpled together.

“Okay… that was a waste. What now?”

Wytchraven huffed and banged the pantry door. “You’re a moron, Brett! I hate you! Arrggghh! Fine, this is fine. It’s Sunday. Most everyone will be at church. We can go there and show them.”

“Okay.”

Eron didn’t think it’d go as Raven expected. Especially if she thought performing her magic in a church would go over well. Ultimately he didn’t care. If everyone was at the church, then Tony was probably going to be there.

“Plan change? How’re you going to get them to actually let you do your thing? I can see them stopping you by force, especially in a church.”

“You’ll do that.”

“Um… how?”

“You’ll threaten them.”

Eron nodded. “That might work.”

The service was just about to end when they got to the church.

Eron followed Wytchraven as she strode down the center aisle with her cast iron pot in one hand and a backpack full of reagents on her back.

Guns were racked and pointed at Eron.

“God, guns and… what was it? Beer?” Eron laughed. “Very on brand.”

“London!” a middle-aged woman carrying a boy toddler stood up from the front row pew. “Where have you been?”

Eron figured she was Raven’s mother from the uncanny resemblance.

“So, that’s what you’d look like with your natural hair color,” Eron remarked.

London’s mother handed her son off to her husband, London’s father, the same older man that Eron had briefly spoken to when this whole thing started. She reached for her daughter, but found Eron barring her path.

“Sorry, ma’am, but Wytchraven’s got something to say,” Eron said. He appreciated the way the woman’s eye twitched. “Fair warning. You shoot me and I can’t guarantee where the ricochets will go. You might just hurt your loved ones. If you don’t care about that then I will guarantee that I will smash each and every one that shoots at me. That’s right, I’m going to hold your inaccuracy against you.”

“The hell we’re going to listen to whatever you’ve got to say,” the old man, Raven’s father, snapped.

Eron scanned the church. Then he realized that he didn’t know what Tony looked like. “Hey, Raven? Is Tony here?”

“What do you want with Tony?” Raven’s father said.

“I don’t see him,” Wytchraven said.

“Not suspicious at all,” Eron said. “What about it, Wytchraven’s father? Tell me where Tony is and this doesn’t happen. We’ll be out of here before you can snap your fingers.”

The old man’s jaw tensed. His hand drifted to the revolver at his hip.

Eron raised a brow.

Silence.

“Okay then. She’s going to do her thing,” Eron raised his voice. “Interruptions will be dealt with harshly… by me.”

Wytchraven didn’t waste any time. She repeated the same spell.

The people in the church grew more animated and outraged as it became apparent that Wytchraven was performing an actual spell inside a church.

Only Eron’s presence kept them in their pews.

A brief spike of concern went through Eron when he thought about what his mother would’ve thought about the whole thing. He was raised under the original religion that this offshoot branched out from a few hundred years back. Mom Cruces would’ve had concerns.

When the smoke started to spawn from the cast iron pot most everyone bolted for the exits. Only the ones seated closest to the doors made it outside. The rest were ensnared.

Eron suppressed the shivers. He counted in his head to give himself something else to focus on instead of the strange, uncomfortable feeling that the smoke gave him.

Five minutes passed when the smoke cleared.

Stolen novel; please report.

“Do you see now?” Wytchraven said to the stunned people.

“Witchcraft!”

“Devilry!”

“Satan spawn!”

“Gargoyles!”

The people jeered. The crowd was growing dangerous.

Eron supposed it was to be expected. Couldn’t expect church people to be cool with spells out of a cauldron inside their church.

He clapped his hands together.

It sounded like a gunshot.

He aimed up so that the shockwave traveled harmlessly up to the raised ceiling.

“Tony’s a murderous cannibal. Where is he?” Eron said.

“Probably at the ranch taking care of his duties,” Wytchraven’s father was as white as sheet.

“I’ll take you,” the man next to him said.

“Thanks, Mason,” Wytchraven said.

Eron recognized the man. He must’ve been the oldest sibling.

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

Mason drove the truck, while Wytchraven sat in the passenger seat.

Eron stood in the bed. It was easier to deal with from potential danger out in the open.

They went back to the Harris family’s ranch.

The men guarding the cattle herd eyed Eron with suspicion, but Mason’s presence assuaged their concerns. Judging by the way they kept their guns pointed to the ground.

They hadn’t seen Tony all morning, which wasn’t that out of the ordinary according to Mason.

Tony’s myriad duties kept him perpetually busy around the ranch and the city.

They drove to the slaughterhouse next.

The place was empty.

“We don’t use it as much as we did before all this started. The focus is building the herd back up after the monsters and mutant animals almost wiped us out in the early days.”

Eron didn’t respond.

Mason was a lot more personable than his father and younger brother.

Eron pegged him at around thirty and he looked less of a rugged outdoorsman and more like a college professor. He was tall and lanky compared to the other men in his family, who were big and stout.

“We only harvest the ones too old too breed and never more than the number of new calves.”

The smell of blood, shit and offal wasn’t strong.

“Haven’t had beef in a while?”

“Last one we harvested was almost two months ago. We’re lucky that the grocery store stocks itself on a daily basis.”

“The place I came from was bigger than this. It was a four grocery store city. We had no problem feeding everyone. Judging by what I’ve seen. Your grocery store can easily feed both sides,” Eron said flatly.

Mason frowned. “I ran the numbers. Feeding everyone would require rationing.”

Eron grunted.

The wrapping was less in your face, but Mason didn’t fall far from the tree. Eron wondered how Raven had managed to not be a racist growing up in that house.

Eron took one last look and sniff around.

“No sign of Tony.”

“C’mon, Mason. We need to find him before it’s too late,” Wytchraven said.

“I don’t know where he is. And what do you mean ‘too late’?”

Wytchraven looked at Eron, who shrugged.

“Up to you.”

“We need to find him to stop potential violence.”

Mason’s brows raised a fraction. “If he’s not checking on things around here, then Tony’s putting out fires around the city. That could be anything from overseeing distribution of food from the grocery store or dealing with monster issues, though that doesn’t usually happen during the day. At this point your best bet is to drive around the city and ask around.”

“Good thing you live in a small town,” Eron said. “It shouldn’t take us long to circle the place in your truck.”

Mason looked like he was about to object, but one look at Wytchraven’s pleading face had him sighing. “Alright. It’s not like I’m not a busy man either. Let’s go get this over with.”

“Thanks, Mason!” Wytchraven smiled with relief.

Eron considered running and jumping around the city on his own. He’d cover more ground and do it faster that way. Problem was he had no idea what Tony looked like. Raven’s spell didn’t work on him for some reason and no one had any pictures.

Thus he was stuck riding in the back of a truck, wiping bugs off his face and out of his hair.

As the minutes turned into hours it became clear that Tony was missing. They didn’t find anyone that had seen him that day. Any interactions they remembered had been from the previous days.

Mason took them back to the family ranch.

Judging by the sun in the sky, Eron figured it was around 3 or 4 in the afternoon. A couple of hours until sundown. He took stock of the hard-eyed armed men gathered around the Harris patriarch as Mason jogged up to him. He noticed Brett in the background trying to look inconspicuous.

Wytchraven hung back with Eron by the truck.

“Do you know where Tony sleeps?”

“He’s got a trailer that he drives around where we pasture the cows, but I think he took one of the empty houses off main street a few months ago.”

Eron mulled that bit of information over for a few seconds.

“Was that about the same time that the disappearances started?”

“Actually…” Wytchraven scratched her head, “maybe? I’m not sure… sorry.”

“I’m wondering why your brother didn’t take us there.”

“Oh crap! Dad doesn’t look happy.”

Eron snorted.

“Don’t let them take me. I’ll never be able to leave the house again,” Wytchraven pleaded.

Her father and his men did look like they were steeling themselves for something. Plenty of furtive glances Eron’s way.

“You need my help,” Wytchraven hissed. Perhaps she sensed Eron’s hesitation. “I discovered the murderer.”

“True.” Eron wondered if it’d make things easier for him if Raven was locked up safe and sound.

The time for decisions was over as the Harris patriarch approached with his men. Mason looked troubled.

The old man eyed Eron. “You broke my pantry door and trapped my son inside.”

“He was being a dick,” Eron said flatly.

The old man bristled. “London, get inside.”

“No.” Wytchraven looked at Eron with hope in her eyes.

“Fine,” Eron muttered. “She’s critical to our efforts to track down the murderer, Tony.”

“If you think I’m going to take the word of that, that… witchcraft—” the old man took a moment to compose himself. “As far as I’m concerned that’s no proof that Tony’s responsible for any of this. He’s worked for me over two decades. There’s no one I trust more.”

“You don’t think it’s suspicious that the day we discover he’s responsible for the murders… he disappears?” Eron scowled. “There’s a line between having faith in a guy and willful ignorance.”

“Dad, I’m trying to stop violence from braking out,” Wytchraven pleaded. “Just help me, please.”

“Take it from me,” Eron said lightly. “You’d get your asses kicked if fighting broke out.” He left it to them to pick up the implications of his words.

“Mase…”

“Yessir.”

“Take them to Tony’s place,” the old man pointed at three of the armed men around him, “go with them.”

Eron hopped into the back of the truck with the men, while Mason got in the driver’s seat. London got shotgun.

“London…” her father began.

“I’m fine, Dad. I’m going to do this.”

“Be careful… you’re mother’s been worried sick about you.”

Wytchraven didn’t respond.