Young Writers Society

Chapter 4

“They will have done such a good work of cleaning the house that I doubt we will find anything. Nevertheless, it cannot hurt to look around,” Flitchling murmured as he opened the front door and stepped aside, allowing his assistant to walk in first.

Aubrey immediately agreed with the Ylf’s prediction; his eyes watered from the harsh smell of chlorine and strong cleaning agents that still wafted in the air. He reached for the light switch, illuminating the small hall way and living room in which they stood.

“They even changed the carpets.”

He remembered from the crime scene photographs, that much of the house was pulled apart during the attack. Flitchling nodded grimly and gave the simple arrangement of couches and entertainment system a once over before moving on toward the bedroom. The teen followed, nearly tripping on the disassembled game console system by the floor. Joseph Clearwater was killed in his bedroom, a fact that no one would ever link to the cheerily painted blue walls and oak panel decorations. Aubrey suspected that Roland had swooped in on the property the moment the police returned with their inconclusive findings; the other man was just the kind of person to sweep bad publicity under the rug. He could even imagine the businessman selling the property within the year, and shivered at the thought of such stone coldness.

“It doesn’t even look like the same place.”

Flitchling shook his head, shoulders and stance stiff with anger. “They took down every trace of Joseph’s life—there are no carvings, no charms…even his collection of bird feathers, all gone. It is sad that no one gives a thought to preserving the memory of such a great man.”

The front door slammed shut and they turned around, the Ylf frowning slightly as heavy footfalls approached. Aubrey raised a questioning eyebrow. “Didn’t you say this place was still sealed off?”

The figure turned the corner and stopped short, eyes widening with surprise and then anger upon seeing the pair. “Wait, who are you and what are you doing in my grandfather’s house? You shouldn’t be here, nobody’s allowed here except family.”

The Flitchling stared back at the gangly, long haired teen glaring aggressively at him. “Grandson? I did not know that Joseph had a grandson; it has been years since we last communicated. Forgive us for the intrusion, but I am one of the few people, other than family, that he deemed it fit to give unrestricted entry to his house.”

The other boy blinked and then shook his head, a dull flush of embarrassment creeping over his features. “Oh…you knew my grandfather.” His eyes dimmed with grief as he said that and his stance lost all aggression. “I’m sorry, it’s just that…I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

The Ylf made a sympathetic sound and took a step closer. “I am sorry for your loss. What is your name?”

“Joey.”

***

Dusk was falling and Aubrey’s nerves rose with the steadily fading light. He sighed and shifted on the bed, succumbing to the urge to look once again at the ticking clock. It was six forty five, three hours since his conversation with Silas and still no word from the other boy. It could either mean that he had no luck convincing the Alpha or Bruce somehow got wind of their plan and reached him first. Either way, the prospects did not bode well for them. He rolled off the bed and turned the television on, hoping to at least be distracted for the next few hours but for once, nothing on the channels appealed to him.

“Damn, the waiting is the worst part of it,” Aubrey muttered to himself, dragging his hands through his hair. Flitchling was no show, which meant that the Ylf had no luck reaching whoever had stolen the Bone in the first place. Maybe the Clearwaters' held out to the very end after all. Thinking in that direction only compounded to his depression.

Someone rapped once at the door and he looked up, walking toward it when the action was repeated. It was Silas, bearing a plateful of sandwiches and a bottle of coke.

“You can’t come down to dinner, so I brought you some.” He pushed the plate to the human, who was staring at his face with a shocked expression.

“What the hell happened to you?”

The Werewolf sported a black eye and fresh cuts over his cheek and brow. His lip was also split and swollen. “I guess Zander didn’t believe you after all.”

Aubrey shook his head, outraged by the Alpha’s actions. “But why take it out on you? Something’s wrong with that guy.”

Silas shrugged nonchalantly, his crooked smile in place. “It only looks bad – we heal pretty fast. Anyway I didn’t really expect a heart to heart, you know?”

“Yeah, looks like you don't rate that much higher than an outsider,” the human finished for him and he rolled his eyes.

“Whatever man, just eat that. I thought I’d at least be able to talk him into getting you out of here…there’s other places we could out you in for the night that’s less dangerous than here.” The Werewolf shook his head, looking this way and that before continuing. “We’ve got to get you out before the shit really hits the roof. Once every where’s quiet, I’ll come back down and get you – hopefully we can make it to my folks place before moon rise.”

His eyes seemed to gleam even sharper than normal as he said that and Aubrey felt apprehension crawl down his spine. He slowly opened his mouth and the other boy caught his hesitation.

“Well, except if you want to take your chances with thirty odd werewolves. I hear humans taste just like deer meat.”

The teen knew his boss had assured him that werewolves didn’t eat people but he still didn’t like the way Silas sized him up. “Shut up. Just don’t forget and leave my ass down here.”

Silas rolled his eyes, stepping out into the corridor. “You’re pretty bossy for a helpless human, you know that?”

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

“I hung out with my grandfather a lot; when I was in high school, I’d come over almost every day. He was tons of fun.”

Joey despondently flicked the paper straw wrapper that came with his drink to the trash can while his audience listened sympathetically. They were sitting in the food court at the local mall, having lunch. Well the teens ate while the Ylf watched.

“That’s why he kept a game console in the house,” Aubrey added and Joey blinked confusedly. “I noticed that it was a PS3 and it looked kinda out of place next to the old model TV and radio system.”

The Ylf gave him a brief smile of approval before turning back to Joey.

“Yeah, gramps was pretty old fashioned. He had the outdated cooker and refrigerator in his kitchen too; he refused to upgrade any of his appliances even though he could afford it. Always insisted that they worked just as fine as the new ones. Gramps was always in the kitchen, cooking up some soup or some kind of herbal stuff. He swore by those things, said it was the reason he never got sick.” A wistful smile touched Joey’s lips at that.

“It is understandable that you feel so badly about the death of your grandfather; you have grown up with strong attachments to him. Letting go will certainly be hard.”

The teen sighed and shook his head bitterly. “I don’t know man, it’s almost as if I can’t. Every time I go to his place, it’s as if he’s still there.” He rubbed his face slowly and Aubrey noticed for the first time the faint smudges under his eyes. “It’s driving me crazy but I can’t stop going there. Dad says I gotta give myself distance and time, otherwise I’ll never move on…maybe I don’t want to.”

Thinking back to the cold, cultured man who had received them in his office, Aubrey still couldn’t believe Joey was his son. They looked little alike—where Roland was compact and fine boned, his son had the frame of a giant, lumbering about with the force of a slow moving boulder. Joey looked more like the slain shaman than he did his own father.

“I walk in and swear he’s going to turn the corner and yell at me to come over to the kitchen. It’s like he’s still there and if I listen hard enough, I’ll hear his voice.”

He half glanced at Flitchling, wondering whether his boss saw what he saw. The Ylf made comforting sounds to the teen’s tale of woe but his head was inclined slightly to the side, narrowed eyes studying the younger man with calculation. He felt his assistant’s gaze and turned to him, eyebrows rising slightly as their eyes met. Aubrey blinked and looked down at his soda cup, knowing instantly that his boss was already a few steps ahead of him. It was a little unnerving to realize that he was beginning to think like the Sidhe. From his little experience with them, teen was not sure whether this was altogether a good comparison.

Flitchling cleared his throat delicately and leaned closer. “Forgive me if it seems that I am prying, but how much do you know of the other duties your grandfather performed?”

Joey gave him a blank look for a moment before understanding dawned. “Oh, you mean the part about him being a shaman? Well I kinda knew about that. When I was little, we used to do a lot of stuff together. We’d take trips into the woods while he went feather hunting, camp out for days…He used to teach me the names and properties of different plants but I always got them mixed up. But then, I got into high school and dad told threatened to keep me away if he continued.” His face tightened with anger and he clenched his fist, knuckles showing white against his skin. “They got into this huge blow out about it my sophomore year. I remember it because dad wouldn’t let me see gramps for three months after that. He told gramps to ‘keep his mindless superstitions to himself and stop poisoning my mind with ridiculous nonsense that would only make it difficult for me to have a real life.’ I never saw gramps look so sad…ever.”

Aubrey shook his head, feeling an unexpected burn of anger toward Roland.

“I see.”

That was all the Flitchling said but he sat rigidly in his chair, staring at his crossed fingers. He looked up and his assistant was startled by the change in his eyes. They were very dark, almost black, the green of a remote and dangerous forest. The teen had the distinct impression that Roland would be unfortunate to cross paths with the Ylf anytime soon.

Joey shrugged and tossed his empty cup into the trashcan. “Anyway, that was the last time he ever took me camping or tried to teach me. What does that have to do with anything?”

Aubrey had the feeling that something was definitely up. There was an undercurrent in the air and it stemmed from what he’d observed the past few days. Only, he wasn’t sure if his prediction was right.

Flitchling took a deep breath, as though he needed time to compose his words before he said them. This was a first for the Ylf. “Your lineage is one gifted with many qualities, something which has become painfully clear that your grandfather never had the chance to fully explain to you. His shamanic abilities were inherited from a long line of ancestors, in the performance of duties given to your family. I believe that you showed a latent potential in your childhood, which Joseph tried to foster, and upon his death this potential will subsequently be awakened in you.”

Silence descended on their table. Joey stared at him as though he’d suddenly sprouted a new head. “What, are you trying to say I’m a shaman?”

The Ylf made a sound of dissent. “No but you have inherited the abilities of a shaman.”

He paused to let it all sink in but the teen still looked nonplussed. “This is undoubtedly difficult for you to face but I cannot afford to mince words at this time. Do you know the circumstances of Joseph’s death?”

Joey jerked back, as though he’d been struck a blow, and his face hardened. “He was attacked by a wild bear. They are pretty common here and sometimes they enter into people’s homes. Gramps probably forgot to lock the door and surprised the bear – he was careless that way about security.”

He hesitated and glared at the other two, as though daring them to contradict his words. “You're telling me there’s more to his death?”

Flitchling nodded gravely. “Your grandfather was attacked by a werewolf, who then stole a very powerful object from him. As a result of this violence, his spirit has been unable to cross over. Joseph still has one final task to perform before he can rest and only you can help him.”

The teen swallowed, dark eyes widening with apprehension. “H-how?”

“You must join your Joseph in the land between and help him make the final journey.”

“But isn’t that done by a –”

“A shaman, yes,” The Ylf cut in, holding Joey in his stare. “I am afraid that the only way Joseph can find rest is if he is relieved of his duties. You will have to become shaman in his stead.”