When the Lights Went Out #6

Chapter Six

Witch [wh-i-ch]: The sole occupant of Rubicon Point. The forest bends to her will, and she collects bits and pieces from living creatures (such as hair, sweat, nail clippings, or even whole organisms like a cat or frog). She uses these to craft potions in her cauldron.

A vast forest spread out at the edge of the field. No light pierced through the spaces between the tree trunks. A single crow cawed. Definitely nothing foreboding here.

Keeping well back from the eerie boughs, London placed Coyote on his feet.

“Why did that Wyeth guy treat you that way?” Coyote asked. The mocking disrespect was much too familiar to him.

London pointed at the Fictionary. “You still haven’t lost that bloody thing?” he hissed instead of answering.

Coyote grabbed London’s hand. “Why?” he asked again.

London stared into Coyote’s eyes for a moment before jerking his hand away. “The wolven, as a group, cannot transpire. They hire vampires, like me, to collect things from Earth for them.” He sighed. “The one time Wyeth hired me, I failed and grabbed the wrong thing.”

“Uh huh, like you did with me?”

London snarled. It had been the wrong thing to say. “We have to keep moving. No more time for stupid questions. This,” he swept his arm toward the trees in front of them, “is Rubicon Point, the witch’s forest. We can go over it or under it. Which do you prefer?”

“It would take forever to go over or under. Why can’t we just go through it?” Coyote started walking toward the verdant thicket.

“Because we can’t.”

London dashed forward to snatch Coyote back, but Coyote dodged and continued his march. A cloud of dust billowed on the horizon behind them.

“Well, if no one here wants to go straight in, it would be the best way to lose those leprechauns.” Coyote charged into the trees.

London cursed, scrambling to his side. “We’re never going to get out of here.”

Coyote ignored him. He figured all he had to do was go straight, straight, and straight again to get to the other side of the forest. Easy enough. Except, trees cropped up right in the middle of the path where he was walking so that he had to dodge to one side or another. There was always another tree when he tried to set himself right again.

London ran right into one. “Bloody hell! This is why no one goes through Rubicon Point!”

In mutual agreement, they drew to a halt. Dense trees spread in every direction, with muted gray light filtering through their dark green canopy. It could’ve been sunlight or starlight. Coyote had no way of knowing how long they’d been running. He was about to ask London what they should do when a cackle warbled through the forest.

“What’s that?”

The vampire’s eyes narrowed. “The witch.”

“Who dares cross through my forest?” a ghastly female voice cried.

Mist spilled between the nearest tree trunks as an effervescent green woman with cat ears and three whipping cat tails stepped out of the shadows. All of her clothes were gray.

“Coyote and London,” Coyote said, squaring his shoulders.

“What, did you fuse with a cat now?” London said. “Can’t you see we’re lost here?”

Coyote elbowed London sharply. Insulting the witch wasn’t going to get them anywhere.

The witch frowned. “I miscalculated the type of feline parts needed for this potion I was brewing…” her voice trailed off. “But you should know what it’s like to grab the wrong thing.” She gave Coyote a pointed look. Maybe if he’d worn a dress, everyone would stop insulting London for snatching the wrong human yet again.

“Excuse me, but we’re looking to get out of here,” Coyote said. Hopefully, in one piece, not fused with a cat. Or three?

Her tails lashed. “You shouldn’t be here.” Her glowing gray eyes narrowed at London. “You ought to know the laws of this land. Over or under—”

“But not through, yeah, I know,” London cut her off. “We’re kind of in a hurry—”

“It would have been faster—”

“To go over or under, we get it,” Coyote said. The witch was starting to remind him of his writing professor, only less scantily clad and more obnoxious. The thought of Singh only served as a reminder that they were wasting time. The leprechauns could’ve made it to the other side already. Coyote wanted to go to slaughter even less than he wanted to go home. “Look, I don’t know what your end game is here, but we need to make it through to the…” He glanced at London.

“Bosom Peaks,” London said. He’d had the same thought, judging by the narrowness of his eyes and hard set of his jaw. “We’re trying to get back to the city.”

The witch folded her arms and huffed. “I could help you.”

“You don’t want to make a deal with London,” Coyote said quickly. “He’s incompetent, and he’ll never fulfill his end.”

The witch cackled again. “I am well aware of his reputation.” She slowly circled around them. “I’m more interested in you.” She pointed to Coyote. “What can you give me, Tramp?”

Coyote flinched at the name but kept his comments to himself. His readings from the Fictionary had given him an idea of what the witch might want. “I could give you some locks of my hair, toenail clippings, and maybe some saliva?”

Squealing, the witch bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. “I think that shall make an excellent brew! But perhaps you can add some sweaty socks and stanky underwear?”

“What?!” Coyote wasn’t certain he’d heard her right. Point of fact, he hoped he heard her wrong. But by the way his day was going, that wouldn’t be the case. Still, he was not about to run around commando. “No!”

London slapped his cold hand over Coyote’s mouth. “Deal.”