The Monsters We Are

Entering any populated area, whether it be a quaint town or fully-industrialized city, always put Thorn on edge. This time was no different. He was never wanted nor trusted for both his skin color and his nature. Humans had never been comfortable around werewolves such as him, and being half-Navajo certainly didn’t help.

Several of the locals eyed him suspiciously as he entered the town’s saloon, a scoff escaping him at the name that was emblazoned above the swinging doors: The Black Stump. How charming, Thorn thought bitterly. The bartender shared his sour mood, her dark eyes sweeping over his form and deciding immediately that she didn’t trust him. He shouldn’t have been surprised.

“We’re all full,” she snapped the moment he reached the counter. He’d barely been able to open his mouth before she’d spoken.

“The sign outside says you’ve got some vacancies still,” Thorn noted, “And I’ve got the money for it.” He lifted his coin purse and shook it, hoping to entice her with the sound. It only made her angrier.

“We don’t serve your kind here,” she growled. “Your money won’t get you anything in this town.”

Thorn was about ready to snap, his nerves already frayed by the day’s events. When he suddenly felt a hand fall upon his shoulder, he turned with a snarl, his eyes burning like twin embers. The man behind him simply sent him a glare, urging him to calm down and regain control. It took a few blinks before The Beast faded from his features and he was able to face the bartender as a human again.

“Room’s on me,” said the newcomer and tossed a coin atop the counter. The woman was about to fire back with something smart when he held up a gloved hand. “He’s a friend, Alice. No need to be dramatic.”

She muttered curses under her breath, but finally took the payment and threw them a key. Thorn’s new “friend” beckoned for him to follow, handing him the key as they reached his designated room.

“Why did you do that?” the werewolf wondered. He didn’t want to worry about repaying some stranger for his random act of kindness. He then took a short moment to observe said stranger—neatly combed blond hair, light brown eyes, tanned skin, tall but hardly close to his own height. Thick black gloves covered his hands and a heavy coat was draped over his form, despite the warm weather. In his experience, that usually meant there was something to hide.

The stranger cocked a brow. “I was at least expecting a thank you,” he muttered before extending his hand. “Tobias Blackburn, at your service.”

Thorn made no move to shake the outstretched hand, instead opting for an emotionless stare. “Joseph Carter,” he replied simply, deciding to use his current alias. Most people didn’t react well to hearing his preferred name.

Tobias nodded and dropped his arm, awkwardly pulling at the fabric of one of his gloves. “Well, Joseph, welcome to the humble town of Lost Hills. I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay here.”

Thorn rolled his eyes and went to open the door to his room when Tobias grabbed his wrist, his grip reminding him of a snake in the midst of suffocating its prey. It made him even more curious to see what was hidden under those leather gloves.

“If you run into any trouble, supernatural or otherwise, let me know. It’s important for those like us to stick together.” He was handed a card and promptly released. Tobias dipped his head and stalked away, his steps quick and sure as he exited the saloon. Thorn heaved a sigh of relief and glanced over the card he was handed, reading it aloud under his breath.

“Tobias Blackburn, Necromancer and Blood Mage. Agent of the National Order of Magi and Inquisitor for the Bureau of Forbidden Arts.” Well, he supposed that explained the calm the man possessed when he was faced with the discolored eyes of a werewolf. As he entered his room, Thorn was sure he’d run into Tobias Blackburn again, even if he preferred to keep his distance from a Mage with such dangerous talents.