Devious Claws

Chapter Three

The wind was whipping the house mercilessly. A soft jazz traveled from my old CD player in the corner. The music spread its warm arms around the room, encasing me and all my things from my teenage years. I felt like a total dork, laying in bed and reading from Luke's binder. I was supposed to get to the pile of books in my bag - but admittedly, the binder was more interesting than the law books.

Next to me was a plate of cookies balancing on the sheets - cut outs from teen magazines taped to the wall stared down at me.

The binder was more fun than I actually cared to admit.

At times it seemed like a fantasy novel, with graphs showing how the creatures' heights could span up to four meters. On other pages, horrifying faces were scribbled down on old, stained paper. They were clearly not Luke's, more likely his father's. I skipped past those very quickly.

By now, I knew werewolves' preferred food (humans), most common living place (the woods), and how to kill one (silver bullet to the heart).

There was something strange about holding the joint heritage of Luke and his dad in my hands. It had gotten some crumbs on it. The humor of the situation immediately melted away and I felt a little sad for Luke. I carefully brushed away the crumbs and shook the binder carefully to remove any trace of the cookies.

Something fell out.

A small note, hand written.

"Cindy, here is everything my father and I have compiled on the werewolves. Grow acquainted with it. Tonight I will save Hillstone. If I don't contact you in the near future, keep this binder and my research safe."

I blinked once. Twice. Read the note again.

I felt sixteen again, but this time it wasn't as fun. It was freezing out, and dark. Luke's note seemed delusional and he could easily hurt himself - or someone else. I thought about what he'd said to me as he left the car, something about killing werewolves.

Killing.

My eyes drifted to the binder, to the page showing a silver bullet in the midst of manic notes.

Did Luke have a gun?

It wouldn't be impossible.

I couldn't help but look out the window. Grey and white played within the black - in the distance, I saw the tree line leading into the vast forest of Hillstone. Somewhere there was the old chocolate factory. And, I suspected, Luke Fanning.

It wasn't long before I was flying out the front door, wrapping my coat around me as I trudged through the snow. I left the binder at home, in the safety of my room, but I couldn't explain why. Perhaps it was the day spent reading about dangerous monsters that made me feel a bit paranoid but I'd felt obligated to hide it underneath my bed.

For a second, I had debated joining it.

The walk to the outskirts of town wasn't too hard. The identical houses made it feel a bit as if walking through a maze, but the wind slashing my face made it hard to even see the estates. I pulled my hat far down my face and trusted my muscle memory to lead me right.

To my surprise, and dread, it did.

My stomach dropped as I looked up at the massive gates of the chocolate factory. The gate was locked, and connected to a tall wall stretching around the grounds. Once it had been yellow, but now the paint was so chipped that the stone underneath was revealed. The wall was warped and crumbled and I easily found my footing as I climbed the stone.

I sat down on the flat surface of the wall, feeling the snow sink into my jeans, and took a second to admire the building. It sure was a building - not a flimsy one like all the other estates in Hillstone. The factory was old, robust and unapologetically rough on the eye. It stood five stories tall, but I had only ever been on the ground floor. It was the easiest to access; a few parts of the lower walls had crumbled and decayed and created entrances to a sizeable venue for any kind of mischief.