8

I have one day before the worldwide protest that sounds as if it will put a serious damper on my mission as thousands of commoners, millions maybe, will swamp the streets of London, pulling the energy of the dead hybrids in every which direction.

The pub is a dead end. The best thing I have so far is the casing. It isn’t made and sold in stores, that I’m sure. Silver is specific to lycans. It is their weakness, like sunlight to vampires, and vampire blood to dragons.

Balls of energy move around the city. I focus my attention on them. Lying on a roof, I close my eyes, allowing their energy to move through me. As suspected, they are hybrids. Violet denotes a strong connection to magic, like the one I followed to the pub, but most are shades of blue signifying their connection to magic is washed out through the generations.

My senses follow them through London and search for anything odd or out of place around them. I listen with my ears to chatter, separating the conversations. Time ticks and when I think it’s a lost cause the energy inside me shifts, easily traced to a light blue ball. In a split second I portal close to the location of the shift, but not close enough to reveal myself. Staying on a rooftop I lay my body across it and peer down.

A body is puddled on the ground. Another death. Its form appears small, like a woman or a child. The string of blue light fresh, I jump off the roof, safely landing on my feet, and chase the string to a building of condos or homes. Instead of rushing in I follow the energy with my realm walker vision as it descends to a lower level. It pauses there before returning to ground level and moving towards a higher level. I portal to the other side of the building and press my back against the outside wall.

A door opens into the alley. I wait as the energy string pushes the door open. A man in jeans, sneakers, and a polo shirt exits. He doesn’t bother to look my way as he slips onto the street. Capturing his individual energy signature, I pull the door open and follow his footsteps down a flight of stairs. Light ebbs into the large space from an open entrance and vehicles are parked in rows. The string doesn’t lead to a vehicle but a wall made from bricks.

I mold my body into the brick, stepping into the dark space. Another cool realm walker trick. We can mold energy and therefore command it to do as we please. Creating a light, my eyes fall on a menagerie of weapons: large and small guns, various types of bullets, a compound bow and arrows.

Without touching anything, I examine them with my other senses. Arrows dipped in weak blood. My untrained nose can’t determine if it is lycan, vampire, or both. Bullets made of silver, and others made of different metals, are in stacked boxes. Some appear made of a darker metal, iron maybe, others appear to be normal bullets. These are weapons to not only kill lycan hybrids but vampires, dragons, and fae hybrids too. The fae are highly allergic to iron.

Every subspecies has a weakness. There are two known ways to kill a vampire; sunlight and a lycan bite. Silver is known to kill lycans. The normal bullets can easily kill a troll or elf hybrid, but would only serve to slow down a vampire or lycan, and would be useless to a commoner whose speed is on slow motion. Vampire blood will kill a dragon hybrid. Hybrids are different though. If a dragon is also elf, vampire blood might not kill it.

There are other hybrids from the lesser prey realms such as trolls, elves, and fae that don’t have increased speed or senses. They can be killed with normal commoner bullets possibly but, with magic, they’d have ways to repel such weapons. They are never to be underestimated.

The dead hybrid surely harvested by now, I am a bit surprised I haven’t been contacted by Culer. I melt the weapons into a puddle that won’t do the users any good when they return for them and catch up with the energy signature of the culprit.

Darkness has fallen and the earlier warmth is overtaken by icy air that grows colder by the moment. I stroll inside the same pub as I had the previous night. The man sits at a table with a group of three others. One woman and two men.

I sit at the only open spot at the bar on the other side of the room from them and listen. The lady behind the bar serves me another bitter liquid. This one isn’t as bad. It isn’t the full-bodied rich flavor of Canidan Hops, but I can drink it.

The man I followed raises a glass to his lips and takes a drink, his bushy mustache sparkles with remnants of the liquid. The woman, hair as short as the men, raises her glass and says something drowned out by the hooping and hollering of the crowd. One eye focuses on them as they swap glances between them, as if exchanging a private language, and chime their glasses, foamy liquid splashing over the sides.

The crowd simmers. Something called football is playing on the large screens. A sport they watch for entertainment. Children in Thraves play snowball, tossing balls of snow from one team to the next, gaining points if they do this without breaking the snowball. The funnest part is not breaking your team’s snowball but watching it crumble when the other team hits it with their paddle. Football is different.

In the crowded pub, my senses are overloaded with all the jeers, cheers, and chatter. I focus my ears on them and my vision on the screen, making it easier to filter out the crowd. The goal of the game is to kick a ball into a wide net without using their hands. Instead, they use feet, legs, and even their heads. It is a peculiar sport. The team in red and white, called The Gunners by the crowd, attempts to kick a ball into a net but it is blocked, according to the group, by a player on the dark blue and white team, Spurs. The crowd’s noise level hits a crescendo and leads my group to sneers, except for the female, who applauds the action, laughing at the men and calling them blokes.

‘Bloody hell, James,’ one of the men grumbles. A quick shift of my gaze, I see a mug of the foamy liquid lying on its side, its contents dribbling over the edge of the table. They each throw napkins at it, like the flimsy paper product will soak up the large puddle. I have to get them out of here. The best way to do that is give them a magic show. It’s imperative I am discreet enough the other patrons don’t take notice. Most everyone’s eyes are glued to the screen. I use the distraction to head towards the group. A sign for a public restroom over a hall behind them. As I near their table I lift my hand over the edge of the table and dry the liquid as I proceed into the hall.

Not only is there a restroom but a door that says ‘employees only’ and another at the end of the hall with an exit sign. I’m feeling lucky as I push it open and stroll into the alley behind the pub, creating a protective shield around me. I can be killed by human bullets, but they’d have to puncture my shield first and that isn’t happening. In no hurry, as I need at least one of them to follow, I stroll.

The passing vehicles on the street are quieter than the noise in the bar and I easily find the group. They’ve exited the pub and split. Two sets of footfalls backtrack, the other two follow me, close enough not to lose me and far enough away a normal commoner wouldn’t notice. I turn left at the next road, my mind searching its map of London for a place I can have a chat with them. Some place secluded from the public eye. Two blocks west is a building for parking, similar to the one they hid the weapons in. Maybe I shouldn’t have melted the weapons yet, as that’s the direction two are headed. I shrug. That’s too bad.

Entering the parking garage, I follow it down, whistling as I walk, and focus my mind. The woman with her short haircut and the man with blonde hair in need of a shave are following. Essentially, my job here is done since the task is learning if it’s vampires or not, but I can’t end it here. I need to know more. Why are they killing them? How are vampires here?

Vampires are known to come to Lols, but don’t stay. Based on the commoners’ weapons, they have experience killing them. I want to know more. I allow the image to fade out in my mind. They keep to a careful distance. All their weapons are long range; guns and a compound bow aren’t used in hand-to-hand combat. They don’t have knives or swords. Smart, since they wouldn’t stand a chance. They have enough experience to know that, and after my little magic trick think I’m an everyday commoner hybrid.

The lower floor of the garage is empty except for a couple vehicles. I choose a small green one and stroll towards it. They stop, staying a distance away, but close enough they see me in their limited commoner vision.

I stop before attempting the car door and pat my jeans as if I’ve lost something and mumble to myself low enough they can’t hear. Turning on my heel I push energy around them. It envelopes them in my web.