Fateful Signs (Ballad of the Seer, Book Three)

Chapter 13 - Sleepless Night

The gravel crunched beneath Jack's feet as he moved to the back of his car to retrieve the heavy duffle bag from the trunk, closing it again. He was getting soaked from the rain, but he didn't much care. What was about to happen was so much worse than a little water. He pressed the button on his key to set the car alarm, shouldering the bag - its contents jangled from the motion. He looked around once, making sure that he was alone; although, why anyone would want to follow him here, he had no clue.

So, into the cemetery he went, passing through the wrought-iron gates that always stood open. The place was so out of the way that almost no one ever bothered coming here, which actually made it perfect for Jack's purposes. He didn't need anyone to hear his screaming - or howling - and call the sheriff. Occasionally the stoner crowd would have parties here. However, even they wouldn't come out on a night like this.

As if to prove his point, a bolt of purple lightning shot across the sky, soon followed by the crash of thunder, so much louder to Jack's ears. More sensitive than usual tonight, on a full moon. It was hidden behind the thick cover of clouds; still he could feel its powers taking hold of him.

He made his way down the path, through the aged and weathered headstones, past the large family crypts. A chill ran down his spine. It wasn't because of some otherworldly specter or a creature in the night. According to Lily, ghosts don't frequent graveyards the way the living might suspect. They had better things to do with their afterlives. It was rare that a ghost was actually the cause of a disturbance in a cemetery. No, what scared Jack was a memory. The sight of the gnarled, old tree where he had almost sliced Duncan to ribbons, before Lily set him free of his curse. Then, he had to be a dumbass and let the creature back in, to save him from the witch hunters.

But he knew they would have killed him otherwise. He still saw their faces; their mangled bodies after the creature ceded control back to him. He remembered throwing up in the corner of his cell. Never in his life, had he seen a human body like that. It was a scene straight from a horror flick. And that's how Jack chose to think about it. It wasn't something that happened to him, rather, a thing that he watched some other boy go through, while sitting safely at home, with his arm around Dianna as she hid behind her hands from the gory mess.

Continuing along the path, trying to block out the images invading his mind, he came across his reason for being here - the metal door, set into the side of a small mound, which led down into the ground, where a secret prison was built.

After being held captive here by the witch hunters, he realized what the place was meant for: werewolves.

Although, he had no idea who had built it. Or why. And why were there so many cells when only one member of Jack's family was cursed at a time? That was still a mystery.

Jack dropped his bag on the floor in the first cell, on the bottom level. He knelt down and unzipped it, removing the heavy-duty chains and cuffs. He had thought about using the manacles that were attached to the wall, but he had no way of unlocking them once they were on. That wouldn't have been a problem if Lily or Duncan were here to spell them open tomorrow.

They weren't. So, he had to bring his own. Mrs. Delgado, at the hardware store, gave him a strange look when he tossed the thick chains on the counter. The cuffs, he had to order online, as he didn't suspect anyone in town sold restraints strong enough to hold a werewolf. The last thing he needed was actually the easiest to come by: the concoction of herbs and plants, which would weaken him sufficiently, so the wolf couldn't break loose. Jason provided that for him. He swiped it from his mother's trunk of witch hunter things.

Once Jack had threaded the chains through the loop on the wall, he did a test, pulling with all of his strength to make sure they were thoroughly secure. There was no give. Whoever built the place did a good job. They knew what they were doing. Which, again, brought up the question of how they knew. Was it relatives of his that made this space, so that they couldn't hurt the townspeople when turned?