Much later that night, in the hotel room, I talk aloud as if Amad is in the room.
“I’ll do it. I accept. One wish, you already know what it’ll be for, and in exchange, I’ll kill the Blood Moon pack. I’ll wipe them out. Every last one. Do we have a deal?”
Without warning, the genie appears in a puff of dark green smoke.
“We do,” he says grandly. He holds out his hand.
“We have to shake?” I ask as I accept his hand.
Amad shakes vigorously. “We do.”
I harrumph. After Morena grabbed my hand and read my palm without my consent, I don’t like to be touched more than is necessary.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get it done. I’m not stupid.”
“Are you certain you do not wish for an ally?”
“Are you volunteering?” I glance at the genie. “Why don’t you just kill them?”
“Genie rules are biding. The first was created to be a creature of captivity, and so, even now, we are limited in what we can and cannot do.”
"So, no genie can kill ever?" I ask, curious.
“Perhaps the strongest and most evil of my kind could, but I do not know of that ever happening.”
“Not even when wished?” I murmur.
Amad does not answer.
“But wait. I’m confused. You said that the wisher dies…”
“Evolution can sometimes be incredibly powerful but also evil,” he says sadly. “I would have rather us evolved far differently, but alas, I am not the one that controls such matters.”
I say nothing. What can I say to make him feel better? It sounds like being a genie is terrible.
“In better news, I can provide you with certain items. Sharp items or small round items.”
“Do you mean weapons?” I grin. “Silver bullets, as many as you can spare. A second set of silver knuckles would be nice. Silver-tipped stakes for my crossbow.”
“Would you care for an angel feather too?” the genie asks.
I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.
“An angel feather?”
“They can be turned into a blade, as can a demon’s. Both can cut through nearly anything. I do not have access to a demon feather at the moment, but I do have access to an angel’s.”
“I’ll take it!”
Amad crosses his arms. His smoke slowly rises to cover his entire form as well as my coffee table. When the last tendrils dissipate, my coffee table is still littered with a book, papers, my remote, and various pieces of junk mail but also boxes of silver bullets, the angel feather turned dagger, and five silver-tipped stakes.
“No silver knuckles?” I ask as I pick up the dagger. The entire hilt is carved to look like the tip of a feather. The blade itself still resembles a feather, but it’s pure metallic now. I don’t know how it had been treated to become like this, but it’s insanely thin and sharp. I just know it’s going to be durable too.
“I have provided you with all of this, and yet you complain?”
“I’m teasing,” I say quickly, hoping he won’t take them away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful. Thank you for all of this.”
He harrumphs. “Once this is done, you will return these.”
I grimace but nod. “If I must.”
“Rebel,” he says warningly.
“All right!”
He disappears in a puff of smoke.
"Geez." So much for hoping to misplace the angel feather turned dagger.
Still, I feel so much better prepared, and I packed up everything I had from my house and the storage unit before I drove out. I had a feeling Amad wouldn’t lie to me and that I would be accepting the job. Even if he had lied, I would’ve considered it anyhow. He made a good point about looking over my shoulder. Yes, I changed my scent, but my face is still the same. My identity isn’t a secret. People have to be able to find me to hire me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have any jobs, and that just wouldn’t be acceptable.
I settle in for a restless night's sleep. In the morning, I start to do some research, first on the regular internet. The missing homeless people aren't going unnoticed. Just yesterday, there had been an article published about how regulars are missing from their normal spots, and people are starting to become worried. So far, they don't suspect foul play but are talking about the numbers. It's only a matter of time before they realize something really is going on.
All that boils down to slightly increased police activity. Noted. I don’t want to risk getting arrested. I haven’t had a parking or speeding ticket. My record, according to the human world, is completely blank. For the paranormal world of mayhem and magic, well… my ledger isn’t exactly clean.
Hey, whatever pays the bills…
Supes.com doesn’t have much at all on it as far as the Blood Moon pack or why it moved, and I find that very suspicious. It takes a lot of digging, but finally, I stumble upon a gold mine—a census of all of the registered werewolves in Pennsylvania. I can even check out other states too. Now, I don’t know why they’re registered, and they aren’t grouped by their packs either. Worse, I don’t know how many unregistered werewolves there are, but I find one member of the Blood Moon pack and another and another. Yep, not all of them are listed. Still, now I have names, and in ten minutes, I have addresses. Interestingly enough, they are all in apartments but different ones.
Hmm. At random, I decide that I will target Colby Matteson. His apartment is on the ground floor, perfect for spying.
I don't know if it'll be easier to try to kill him during the day or late at night, but the best part about the census is that each name has a picture. Colby looks like a werewolf even in human form. His eyebrows touch and look like a thick, furry earthworm above his eyes, which are a seriously light brown color that I've never seen in a human. His beard and mustache are insane, and even though the picture is just a headshot, you can see how thick his neck is. He looks like he can bench press a massive oak and squat a house. Insane.
I do not want to grapple with him. No hand-to-hand with him. Crossbow or gun, for the win!
Because of his size, I think it will be easier to go after him at night and potentially as a wolf. Once the sun sets, I can be found in my car, watching his place. He came by earlier with a woman, and they left around dinnertime. If she comes back with him, I might have to wait for another night or else start to look into someone else.
Someone must be smiling down on me because he shows up around eleven alone. He parks and starts for the front door when he hesitates, sniffs, and looks around.
Immediately, I face forward. Between my sunglasses and a hat, combined with my altered scent, I should be good.
Except I hear boots on gravel and then a knock on my window.
You have to be kidding me. It’s not as if my license plate should give me away. I’m still in Pennsylvania. Wait. They do have a database for license plates, don’t they? Maybe it did give me away. You have got to be kidding me.
He knocks on my window again.
I roll my eyes and heave a sigh and turn just enough that he can see that I have my phone by my ear. "Grayson, I told you that I would call now, and you swore you would pick up, but no. You never ever do what you say you're going to do, do you? I can't take this anymore. If you hadn't shown up at my work yesterday, I would've thought you ghosted on me. Just be a man, okay? That's all I want, for you to take…"
I trail off and glance over. Colby Matteson remains standing there.
“Grayson, there’s a scary-looking guy standing outside of my car. I know you can’t hear me, that it’s a voicemail for your—”
He bangs again with his fist, and a spider crack starts.
“Seriously?” I roar.
I hang up and legit start to call 911.
“You really want to do that, Rebel?” he asks with a chuckle. “All that blood on your hands.”
I glance at my hands. “I don’t see any blood. A few nails that need to be filed, and I’ve never had a manicure. You want to pay for it? No? Well, you are gonna pay for my window.”
“I don’t think so. Either you open up, or else I’m going to rip your door off.”
"I don't…" I sigh again and slam the door open, trying to hurt him, but he barely lets it open. I can't fit through the tight opening.
Moving faster than I would’ve thought possible, he rushes around the door, flings it open to the point that it makes a twisted metal sound, and grabs the back of my collar. He lifts me into the air, and my fist, silver knuckles already on, connects with his nose.
“You—”
My other hand’s already holding my special angel blade, and I bury it in his gut. He gasps and reaches for my neck with his other hand, but I’m already stabbing him over and over again. Blood sprays everywhere, and eventually, his hold loosens.
Before he drops me, though, I draw my arm back to my ear and whip it forward. The angel blade is so very strong and solid despite being thin that it doesn’t just slice his throat. I decapitate him. His head connects with my already weak window, and the glass shatters.
Whoa!
Cursing to myself, I quickly wrap him in a tarp and shove him into my backseat. At least I have a bag for his head. I have to drive off with my broken window, but thankfully, I don’t get a flat driving out of the spot.
That is the worst part about killing, disposing of the body.
Actually… The werewolves are going to know immediately that one is missing. They’ll smell his blood in the parking lot. They might even be able to locate my car now. Why not leave the body for them as a present?
So that’s exactly what I do. I dump Colby Matteson’s body on Chestnut Street near that abandoned castle-looking building that looks more like a prison now that it’s nighttime, and I hightail it away.
As soon as the carwash is open the next morning, I have my car washed. Yes, even with the busted window. I shove a ton of the smelliest flowers I can buy into the car, in the glove compartment and the trunk, everywhere.
Wait. How did he smell me?
Back in the hotel now, I call up Mirella. “A quick question if you have a minute.”
“For you, I have two.”
“I took a potion to change my scent so werewolves won’t be able to find me, but he found me anyhow. Could it have worn off?”
“What do you smell like now?”
“Lilac and cinnamon.”
Mirella groans. “I’m sorry. That is basically the default new scent. If she had put a little effort into it, she could have made you smell like anything. Vanilla and cloves. Soap and the ocean. Honey and, well, you get the idea.”
“Wow, am I glad I helped Darius kill her.”
There’s silence on the other line.
“Thanks.”
“Rebel, are you in trouble?”
“No. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
“Did the werewolves—”
“My two minutes are up. Thank you!”
I hang up.
Great. Just great. I basically have a bull’s eye on me for the werewolves. Anytime they smell someone with this scent, they know the person is trying to run away and hide.
Even though I’m sure Mirella can fix this, I can’t risk the Blood Moon pack fleeing for another city. I’m here. They’re here, and I’m going to stay here until the job is done.
Unfortunately, it takes me almost a week to be able to find the next werewolf alone. At least he’s hunting down someone in his wolf form, and I’m able to stake him from afar. Bonus, I can retrieve the stake.
But that’s only two down. There are far too many to go yet.
This is going to take a long time, and that’s the last thing I want because the public is starting to realize there is a serial killer in their midst. They just don’t know it’s a pack of bloodthirsty werewolves, and I have to be the one to stop those wolves before the people discover they actually exist.