It’s oddly chilly today, especially for the beginning of summer. That should be good for the hunt, though it doesn’t matter much for whether or not I go on it. I don’t like to travel much, especially not past the city limits, but an old friend of the family asked for some help. And an old friend who sticks to the rules. An old friend who still has the respect of some of the things that go bump that I actually worry about. So I suffer the pull’s heightening. Such heightening, it’s inevitable. Someone somewhere is doing something troublesome, something my other half wouldn’t appreciate. And, the more people close to me, the more likely one of those someone’s just happens to be nearby. But that isn’t my concern. I’ve fed recently enough. I keep control of it, not the other way around.
I pull into a gas station. My bike needs its tank refilled. And this magician Will doesn’t appreciate won’t be at the airport for another hour. I need to think about a strategy. As a solitary fox, I can’t always count on sheer force or skill. Not unless the creature that calls on me is particularly small or weak. Instead, I rely on my own wits, and my other half’s, to get me well fed. Plans. It was taught to me, and I would teach it to whomever might have the misfortune of following me. I avoid that as much as I can, however. It would be cruel to subject someone else to the call out of anything but necessity.
As far as the plan, I need to catch the magician before the airport proper. Secrecy in our practices keeps everyone safe. After all, while we do what needs to be done for the people’s safety, throughout history people have a tendency to take the side of whoever looks more like them, and when I’m hunting, I most certainly do not look like the average bystander, and even the most dangerous of mystics almost always do. The roads around the airport have cameras spattered around as well. His home, which I don’t even want to know how Will knew, would be filled with other mystics that would likely feel the need to involve themselves. I could follow south, but there’s risk with being in an airplane for hours with the magician. Might get antsy, especially if the guy gets suspicious and pulls a rabbit out of his hat. So here. He’s gone for just over a week. And he really likes his car, is proud of it, wouldn’t want the other mystics messing with it. He’ll be driving to the airport, rather than getting a ride. That has him parking. From the notes, he doesn’t seem the sort to care about saving a couple of dollars at the cost of his convenience. So he’s putting the car in the garage. Good. The garage has cameras in the entrance and exits, but not many in the actual structure. And there’s always ways for a talented individual to slip into a building while avoiding cameras. I pay for my gas and get back on my bike. Time to visit the airport.
The ride is smooth, and I pull into one of the economy lots. I, for one, do care to save money at the cost of convenience. And it helps that the economy lot puts me at a specific place that isn’t the garage. Quickly, I pull out my phone to buy a round trip. Give me a reason to be here, to park here. Plus, it can be a vacation, a chance to go somewhere interesting. Interesting in the country, because I’m not fool enough to bring my passport on a hunt. None of the flights to Alaska are particularly cheap, so as much as I’m sure my other half would have preferred the northern wastes, I go for a compromise. Seattle. It should still be cold, but it is much cheaper to get to. And, I haven’t been before. Buying the round trip tickets, I get off my bike and begin the walk to the terminal. Or, at least, that is what it will seem to anyone who might catch a glance. As the path takes me past the side of the garage, I check my surroundings. No one in sight. Putting in my headphones, I turn on my relaxation app. It helps with the pain. The outside world melts away with the sea of calming sounds. I strip down, stashing my clothes there. Don’t want them to get bloody. Then I start to change. The twisting begins, as always, with the smell. I can smell some dead body three or so miles west. It’s the direction the wind is blowing from. Both winds. Not specifically, I don’t think the body is related. It just stinks. Then my muscles tense as my toes begin to lengthen. My feet as well. My legs becoming digitigrade. I know how long the process takes. I’m ready now. As the painful twisting begins in my body, I tense those powerful legs and leap up. I make it to the second floor of the garage with ease. Sliding inside I lie down. My thumbs fold into the rest of my fingers, my hand thinning and lengthening to match my feet. At once, claws push themselves out from my fingers and toes alike, ripping through my skin. My shoulders crack, pulling inwards and downwards. My head begins to pull itself forwards, teeth first. My canines growing, and my mouth stretching forth to match it. And that pull away from my neck pulls my neck as well. As my neck grows forth, I can feel my hips and tailbone change. My hips begin to thin, slendering to a precise form, and as though the bone had to go somewhere, a boney tail begins to grow itself out of the end of my spine. Vertebrae by vertebrae. Until after only a few more moments, I am a massive, near-hairless fox. With a quick shake of my body, the small hairs that grow normally across my skin thicken and grow a stark white. And I begin my prowl.
My prey is careful, he will be seeking a place to stow his car that is unlikely to be damaged. Or even noticed. Not a low floor. I begin to dart between cars already parked, making my way up the slowly spiraling floorplan of the parking garage. It’s on the fourth floor that I see it. A secluded spot, without any cars. Leaping up onto the light fixtures nearby, I wait, hidden among the concrete and contrast. Wait for my prey.
I guess right. A coupe, clearly expensive, drives around. The driver is looking for something in particular. And he, like me, sees the spots. The coupe pulls into the center spot. My target gets out. I wait. Not yet. He locks the car. I wait. He moves a few steps away from it. I tense my muscles. He begins to move his hands in a pattern. Mystics. Always testing fate. Today, unfortunately for mister Gomez, fate shall answer the test. The car disappears. Hidden from view by some magic. It will pass with him, I suspect. I keep myself tense, ready to pounce when the moment is perfect. He takes a few steps further, towards the exit. Right under me, then just past. His back to me. It’s time. Releasing the tension, I push out, leaping from the light fixture and slamming into the magician’s back. With a swift bite, I latch onto his neck and begin to twist it and shake. As I wrench his neck around, I begin to dig into his back. Because the only way to end it. Sate the hunger. Killing him won’t be enough. His body begins to go limp from the strain and blood loss. I unclench my jaw. Before he dies, I need to feast. I spread my paws out to open up the exposed bit of organs. Right there, in the corner, is his liver. Plunging my snout in, my canines find purchase on the large organ. I wrench it free from the dying body and begin to chew. If the bites on the neck didn’t kill him, this most certainly did the job. As I chew the liver, I can taste it. Will was right, this Gomez had a lot more active patterns running in the background than just the simple illusion hiding his car. The illusion vanishes, as do the other active patterns I am sure, consumed by my hunger as I swallow the liver. And that hunger is already sated. And, as I am what I am, unlike others of my ilk I can last a while on a feast like that one. “Yum,” I whisper in his dying ear as I make my way back towards where I entered. Behind me, I can see him struggling, trying to do some kind of spell on me. But that would be hard for him to achieve, in his current state.
I lick the blood off of my fur as I walk back down the parking garage. It should disappear with the fur itself, but being careful is important. I make it to the entry point. Still empty. Good. Checking over the wall, I see a couple walking by. Best not frighten them. I wait. Let them pass. I begin twisting back as they do. First my fur pulls itself back into my skin. My tail and neck begin to come back together, vertebrae by vertebrae. My hips widen once more. My teeth shrink, flattening my face. The couple move around the corner, just out of view. Silently, I hop back down to the ground. My shoulders push back into place. My claws retract back into my skin, leaving no trace they had ever burst out. My hands shorten. My thumbs begin to separate themselves from my other fingers. My rear legs return to normal. And then, I am no longer able to smell the body I just killed, though even still I can taste the liver. As it always does, the taste changes from quite pleasant and powerful to disgusting and incredibly powerful. I grab my clothes from where I’d stashed them and pull them on as quickly as I can, doing so as I walk towards that corner. Towards the airport terminal. I check my reflection in a window as I walk. I’m alright. No sign of blood on my face. A little bit under my fingernails but you can’t really tell. Not without a careful examination. I scratch the back of my neck. The skin irritation will explain it if anyone does notice. I head into the airport.
Going through security is relatively easy, when you’re attractive, white, and are only bringing one backpack with clothes, notebooks, and a novel along with you. They wave me through without a second glance. Or, actually with several second glances, but none of them at all suspicious looks. I settle into a seat by my gate, pull out my novel, and start to read while waiting the two and change hours before my flight.
An hour into the wait, I hear a young woman’s voice. “Mind if I sit here, ma’am.” Not enough younger than me to call me ma’am. I look up, but she’s already seated. Unfortunately, I recognize her.
“Miss Scott,” I say coldly. “Don’t call me ma’am.”
She looks at me blankly. Just like she did both other times we’ve met. “Miss Bradford,” she says, “It is good to see you again.”
“I believe I met a friend of yours earlier,” I told the magician. Unfortunately for me, she’s clever enough not to keep any patterns active when she’s not actually using them. She respects the rules, and respects her enemies enough to follow the rules. The letter of them, at least.
“Hopefully not,” she says, “My friends can often be so careless.” I don’t know why, but at that moment, I knew. She is why Will had such detailed information.
“Where are you headed?” I ask, trying not to sound concerned about the possibility of being stuck for hours in a plane with a magician, even one as careful as her.
She saw through my mask. “Not here. Just figured I should say hello.”
“Hello,” I reply sarcastically.
She leans in really close. I can feel her breath on my neck. The air vibrates slightly at the incongruity of our natures being in such close proximity. “Sarcasm is a much better look on you than concern,” she whispers. Then she stands up and walks away, vanishing into the growing crowd of the airport. Not magically, just good at what she’s good at. I hate that woman, I think as I put my headphones back in and breathe deeply and put on my meditation app. I needed to relax after whatever that was. My heart was pounding far too fast for my liking.
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