Young Writers Society

I gripped the knife tightly in my hand. It didn't matter that I had done this before, my heart pounded and my blood pumped adrenaline through my veins, sending a jolt of energy through every nerve in my body. For me, there was never anything quite like the thrill of the hunt.

A grunt came from my left and I looked up to meet eyes with Two-Bit as he crouched in a rather uncomfortable position.

I don’t really know how Two-Bit fits in to our tight family of six, and I have never gotten a serious answer when I asked how he came to know us. He was a gruff, immense man from Scotland, and he could fill the doorway with his stout frame. His beard, black like coals sitting in the fire, could make even Santa Claus jealous at its length and thickness. His appearance could intimidate you, as well as his great strength, but everyone who really knew him knew that he was the kindest man you would ever meet.

I offered him an nod, which he returned with a grin. I turned my gaze back to the small house.

The house was set back away from the road, the path leading up to it well overgrown with weeds and nearly impossible to get to unless on foot. My family and I had been keeping an eye on it for a good month--it's location made it the perfect place for summoning dark magic.

Perhaps I should explain a little. First off, my name is Maverick Odin. I was adopted by Gerard Guthrie when I was eight years old, and it was then that I learned my true destiny. There are sources of good in this world, and then there are sources of evil. You may close the book when I say this, or think that maybe you are reading a work of fiction, and I honestly don't care if you do. I only mean to warn those who are willing to listen.

When I was adopted by Gerard, I learned things that most consider to be...well, for lack of a better word, crazy. For centuries the Guthrie family has been in this line of work, and they are the best at what they do.

You see, we hunt witches.

I know what you are thinking: Wow, he’s right, this is crazy. Believe what you will, but the truth is the truth, and I do not lie. But don't get me wrong--we hunt wizards as well, and only the ones who summon dark magic. We make sure that they are guilty of their crimes, and we do not kill them.

And now you're thinking, But wait--then what do you do to them after they are caught? And what about that knife you were talking about earlier? I'll tell you: A witch (or wizard, we don't discriminate) that is found to be guilty of committing crimes such as worshiping the devil or summoning dark magic is to be punished. However, witches and wizards cannot be killed. Literally, they cannot be killed. They can't die.

And no, you sadistic bastards, we do not torture them or anything of that cruel nature. If a witch or wizard is to be stabbed, a kind of illusion would appear before your eyes. You can see the soul of the said witch/wizard leaving its mortal body, much like when you witness a human die, but the witch/wizard does not truly die--its soul merely moves on to the next universe, and it takes many hundreds of years for the soul to find its way back to this world. So they're not sentenced to death, but rather to banishment.

And if you're now wondering why we do what we do, I can only answer that I haven't the slightest idea.

Yep, that would be a question for Gerard, and I can assure you that even he might not know. All I can tell you is that since this whole business started up, it's been a hell of a lot safer for people like you, who are sheltered from the harsh truth.

I was hidden behind the overgrown weeds at the edge of the property, Two-Bit on my left, when I saw the signal. A light flashed on from within the house, which had been abandoned for years. The small flash of light was familiar enough to me that I knew it was caused by a ceremonial candle used by witches and wizards, otherwise called Wicks.

I didn't have to look over my shoulder to see if Two-Bit had seen it as well; I knew he had. I immediately scrambled up and took off running toward the house. I could see three other dark figures sprinting toward the house as well and knew it had to be Gerard, my foster father; August Guthrie, his brother; and Patrick Lawson, my foster sister's betrothed.

The house loomed up before me and I found a small window that had been smashed in some time ago, either from delinquents or animals. I clambered into the house, feeling as though it threatened to cave in on me.

"Hey!" Two-Bit whispered, panting heavily. "Gerard told ye not to go in without back-up!"

I cringed at the idea of waiting for one of them to find another way in, for the doors were long since boarded up, and even Patrick, slender though he was, would not be able to fit his way through the window as I had just done.

"Don't worry, Two-Bit," I said hastily, "I'll only take a look around!" I flashed him a grin for good measure before turning swiftly on my heel.

I vanished into the house, pretending not to hear Two-Bit's desperate yells calling me back. Gerard had been overly protective since he had heard that his cousin, Thomas, had been killed while hunting Wicks just last month. I love Gerard, I truly do, but sometimes he just doesn't understand me at all. Why couldn't he see that I only wanted to help? There could be hostages in the house, for God’s sake!

I weaved my way expertly throughout the old farmhouse, dodging bits of furniture that lay about shrewdly. The house could have been beautiful at some point, but now was only broken and forsaken much like an old woman who spent her days staring out the window of a nursing home, clinging to memories that grew fuzzy as the days went on. I passed through an empty doorway into what used to be the kitchen. The door was torn off of the hinges and lay broken a few feet away. I couldn't help but wonder if it had sat there for some time or if the Wicks had done it.

A crescendo of voices stopped me in my tracks. I held my breath before they quickly faded, but I knew that I was close. Judging from where I had seen the light flash, I guessed their ceremony to be held in the basement--not unusual when performing rituals to raise demons.

Across the room I could see another door. It swayed lightly in the wind. The hinges gave a small moaning complaint, rusted from years of rain and wind hammering at it through the hole in the ceiling. I inched my way slowly toward it, their voices growing louder all the while. I didn't dare breathe until I felt the old, worn wood of the door frame in my right hand, the knife still clenched in my other.

The steady chanting of the Wicks grew until it roared in my ears. "Ossibus meis et caro de carne mea sanguinem..."

It was definitely black magic, that much I knew for certain. I crouched down and lowered my foot onto the top step, gently easing my weight on to it. The weathered boards gave a cry underneath me, and I bit down hard, trying to will the old house to stay silent. Sweat beaded on my upper lip, and I licked it away quickly. I craned my neck to see what was going on in the basement, but I needed to get closer.

They continued with their chanting, the eerie sound striking fear down to my very core. "...ut offerat dona deae in nobis nosmet ipsos..."

I let my foot glide onto the next step, praying that it wouldn't make a sound. The air smelt old and stale, and as I peered down, my weight balance evenly between the two steps, I could just start to see the light of the burning candles. I let my breath out and closed my eyes as I rested the full of my weight onto the second step. It moaned underneath me, and the chanting stopped.

I opened my eyes, expecting to see Wicks before me, staring up the steps at the intruder that was me. But, to my great relief, it was only the end of the incantation. A single, solitary voice spoke out now, the others falling silent. I could see now that they stood in a circle surrounding a pentagon, and my fear hitched to a new level. They weren't your average amateur Wicks--these were experienced witches and wizards with full intentions to let loose a greater demon from the Otherworld.

I now wished that I had listened to Two-Bit and waited for the others, but there was no going back, especially now when I was so close. Gerard and Patrick couldn't be too far behind, and I was right there. Thoughts of a possible hostage pressed deep in my mind, and without another thought I completely committed myself to the task before me.

A shadow moved on the wall and I watched, nearly shaking with nerves, as a man moved into the center of the pentagon, moving his arms in a flourishing fashion.

"My children," he said--a deep, throaty sound resonating throughout the cement basement, "we are nearly complete. The hour is near. Soon, our father will walk among us and we will have the answers we seek."

The man moved to the other side of the pentagon, moving just outside of my line of sight. I leaned forward ever so slightly. The stairs yelled out their objections, and I cringed.

"What was that?" a woman's voice called out. She sounded young and frightened.

"Don't worry, Rose," the deep voice said calmly. "You're frightened--and that is okay. Fear is a gift from the goddess, and you should be grateful that she's favored you."

I let out a long, slow breath. The man continued addressing various members of the group, and I reasoned that there must be about six Wicks. I silently cursed. Six Wicks would be difficult for even Gerard to handle. I hadn't even brought proper weapons! The knife I held in my sweaty palm was my only means of defense against the six Wicks below.

"Now, the hour is upon us, fellow Wicks!" the man's voice boomed, making me jump. "If you would all clasp hands. Dan, if you could, please bring out the sacrifice?"

It was as if everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. At those words, I was given a boost of courage and quickly dropped down one more step. They gave a groan and the whole set of stairs shifted ever so slightly. I was lucky that the Wicks had chosen that moment to begin cheering at the prospect of raising their demon and therefore hadn't heard me. I had to know for certain, though--I had to know that their sacrifice wasn't human.

I peered down at the circle, struggling to see past the bodies. I didn't need to, though, for my suspicions were soon confirmed.

The girl was shoved forward into the center of the pentagon, her gag pulled off in the process. She let out a scream, which turned quickly into a sob. I could make her out clearly, now. She had long red hair that was plastered to her face from the sweat and filth. She had to have been in her early twenties--not much older than me. She had a slim figure and wore jeans and a tee shirt--both torn, nearly ripped to shreds in places. The poor girl was probably grabbed when she was walking home from somewhere.

"Please!" she screamed. "Please, let me go!"

I had to restrain myself to keep from running down and comforting her. Gerard had trained me to behave like this--to hold back that primal instinct to protect that made us all human. It was necessary for the survival of myself, and, if all went as planned, the hostage, too. I rubbed a sweaty palm through my hair, racking my brain, trying to think of a plan to get her out and keep us both alive.

"Ferrum ferro hoc tibi offero sacrificium humanae!"

The man reached into a black bag as he spoke, his voice rising and falling in a lulling tone. He took out a long, sharp blade.

I gulped and realized that I couldn't wait any longer.

Without any kind of forethought, I leapt down from the stairs, landing lightly on my feet and tucking into a roll so my body could absorb the impact. I wrapped my arm around the first Wick I saw and my knife was instantly at her throat.

The Wick, a young witch with stringy brown hair, kicked out and struggled against me, but my grip was locked tight and she could do little to resist.

"Let the girl go, Wick," I said darkly, glaring at each of them. I could now see that I was right--there were six Wicks; four wizards, two witches. An elder wizard stepped forward with the blade, and as soon as he spoke I knew him to be their praesul, or leader.

"Set the knife down, son," he said, his arms waving like I was an angry, wounded animal. "You have no idea what's going on here."

I smirked. "Oh, trust me--I know all too well, Praesul."

His eyes widened when I addressed him with his title. He quickly looked up the stairs to see if I was alone. When he saw that no one came running down, guns blazing, he smiled. His teeth gleamed, and in the candlelight his skin looked scaled and rough like a crocodile’s.

"Wick hunter," he said. The other Wick shivered and few took involuntary steps back while others sneered with distaste. "Where are the rest of you?"

I remained silent, my heart pounding in my throat.

The praesul grinned even wider. "No? Foolish hunter--you came alone!"

A larger wizard burst forward, the inaccurate fact lending him courage. I had little time to think--I plunged the knife into the witch's throat.

The Wick screamed, but the wizard was soon upon me; my sudden attack upon his kin not enough to stop him. I dropped the witch and flashed my knife up, but he was quicker than I assumed. The knife tore a deep gash along his forearm, but it didn't hit anything vital and he continued toward me. He slammed into me and the knife went flying.

I landed hard on the floor, the wizard on top of me. He tossed back his arm and a hot flash of pain ripped across my face as his knuckles scraped against my skin. He pulled back and struck me once more as I was still recovering from the shock of the first hit. As the wizard pulled back for his third strike, I made my move and rolled out from underneath him.

I was on my feet before he even realized that I had moved, and I brought my knee up quick and gave him a sharp kick in his side. He fell, and I narrowly escaped another punch from a different Wick. The Wick was the second witch--the resemblance between her and the one now lying lifeless on the ground was striking. I had barely enough time to shield my face before the witch stuck again, and a sharp pain split throughout my side as another Wick attacked me from behind.

I fell to the ground, landing hard on one knee, before another hit landed on the tender part of my shoulder, sending my sprawling to the ground. I curled myself into a ball, hoping to spare myself some pain, but it was unnecessary: The praesul spoke out, ordering his Wicks.

"Children! Children, stop this madness!" he cried. The Wicks slowly, reluctantly withdrew and I lowered an arm to watch. "What do you think our father would say?" He glared at all of them disapprovingly, and honestly I was a little thrown off. The Wicks avoided his eyes, not daring to question their Praesul.

"Lewis, could you tell me what he would say?" the wizard asked.

A wizard standing only a few feet away slowly shook his head. The praesul's mouth quivered with anger and he erupted, "I will tell you what our father would say! Our father would say that we are stupid for not taking his most gracious offering! Can't you see, Wicks, that this was a message from Astaroth?"

The Wicks slowly raised their eyes to him, and my heart fell. I knew what he was going to say before he said it, and I still couldn't believe it.

"Wicks," he said, eyes ablaze, "Rose clearly wasn't strong enough. Our father, Astaroth sent this hunter to cleanse our clan with a proper sacrifice! Isn't it clear to you now?"

I shook with fear as the Wicks all slowly nodded, gazing down at me with a new kind of wonder and treachery in their eyes. I lowered my gaze, still wondering where the hell Two-Bit and Gerard were, when I saw a glint of silver.

In the struggle, I had nearly forgotten all about her--the girl, the redhead who was taken as hostage for their human sacrifice, locked eyes with me from across the room. What had caught my attention was the knife--my knife--that she held in her hands.