Ask me no questions...

Chapter 5: Meet the Forrests

Danger

"What if they don't want me?" I ask, twisting my hands in my lap. It's getting dark out. I missed every one of my classes. I don't know where we are. My mom will never find me all the way out here we've been driving all day.
"They have no choice I'm leaving you there," West says, unconcerned, fiddling with the radio which is now blasting static, "Your mother tell you to keep the music on?"
"What?" I frown, "No."
He rolls his eyes, "Night creatures. They track us partly by scent, but also by sound. Heart rate is naturally slower, makes us easier to spot. More noise—,"
"Distracts them," I say, realizing that he also smells strongly of cologne.
"Won't always help, but loud noises can make it hard for some of them to detect you, many are blind they use sound to navigate," he shrugs, "This is supposed to be common knowledge. Your mother had some of those anti dog, high frequency things outside your house, that reason."
"Then why can't I stay there? I'm old enough I can be alone," I say.
"Because I just drove you four hours. And you belong to your father," he says.
"Do you think he'll want me?"
"No."
"But you know him?" I ask. He called my dad at a rest stop after locking me in the car. It took me forever to get out and when I did he'd hung up.
"Yeah, more than a pain in the ass. I know all the Forrests, they had a warlock in their family for a bit, I know because we do zones, warlocks try to avoid the same zone. Other than me doing this. Anyway she died, and I got to move about a bit freer," he says, like that's clearly a benefit of someone dying.
"Oh," so that's why I'm a warlock then? My dad's family. That's what my mom had said, that he was the carrier. She was not.
"You'll do fine. Or you'll die. Either way, won't have to worry about it for very long will you?"
That is as close as I'm going to get to a pep talk. So I decide to take it.
We've turned up a long, bumpy dirt road. The radio is now just blasting static. West growls a little, hitting it. It doesn't make it start working but it appears to make him feel better.
I wrap my arms around myself. I'm so scared. I just want to go home.

Freddy

Ah my favorite. Hiding in a wall crawl space unable to properly breath or move praying the most prolific vampire hunter in the nation doesn't have one of his hounds with him.
I peer through the cracks in the wood. I can just see the living room.
"What are they doing?" Micheal whispers, pressing next to me.
"Shh," I say, "Not a sound."
He lowers his head, sadly. I sigh and pat it. He can't make a noise. Otherwise we're dead.
In the living room, Lucy and the Forrest's are hurriedly putting up religious symbols. Makes my skin crawl, but I know it has to be done.
"Why is commissioner West himself coming here?" Lucy asks, balancing on the worn sofa to put a wooden cross above it. "Personally?"
"He doesn't know about the boys it's—he's bringing another kid," Mr. Forrest says, awkwardly, there's something he's not saying. I've spent half my life watching adults lie to me. Lie as they called the cops. Lie as they called the hunt. And he's lying.
"Something's wrong," Micheal hisses.
I cover his mouth.
"The boy is a warlock, he's staying with us for a while, that's all," Mrs. Forrest says, quickly. She's lying too? Are we about to be turned in? What the hell? I'll bite that damn warlock, turn him and taste his blood. Smells like goddamn chocolate chip cookies. Heartbreaking, the worst person you know smells like a bakery.
Micheal tips his head. He smells it too.
Strong enough to make me drool. Warlock blood is addictive as heroin to night creatures, and about as desirable. Everyone has a unique scent, and humans generally smell pretty nice. But Warlocks? Oh damn. It's like fresh bread, vanilla, chocolate, all rolled into one. I've only smelled a few warlocks, older they are the stronger it is. Their heartbeat is low and soft, just a steady pump, gets faster when they're scared which is all the time 'cause they're usually about to die. I wouldn't like bite one randomly. I mean, you don't dig your fingers into a fresh loaf of bread and eat it with no restraint. I can resist. But if the fresh loaf of bread is trying to kill me then hey what's a bat to do?
"Coming," Mrs. Forrest says, checking the security cameras on her phone. She sighs, trying to tuck her hair back. She's clearly stressing, her heart's been beating faster, she's sweating.
But that's nothing compared to him. Mr. Forest is a wreck, he's fidgeting, heart rate is variable but he's exhibiting every symptom of extreme stress.
Would they really do this to turn us in?
Micheal sniffles. He's crying. He thinks the same thing. His senses aren't as acute as mine, but he can still tell they're way more worked up than they need to be. Even with the Commissioner coming.
Lucy rubs her hands on her pants, looking around to check that there's no sign that there are two extra children in the house. Her eyes rove expertly over our hiding place. Not the first time we've done this, but it is the first time the Forests are this nervous.
There's a knock on the door, quite polite. The intoxicating smell of the warlocks fills my nose. It's not just the tasty one. No. There's two of them there. The second one is different, all together deeper like the ocean somehow, rich, dark, musty, I want to drink it in so badly my throat burns.
"Hi," Mrs. Forrest opens the door.
"I'd say it's a pleasure but we'd both know I'm lying," the man steps in. Ash West, Commissioner West AKA one of the most prolific vampire hunters of this century. Green eyes and high cheekbones make him handsomer than someone with that much blood on his hands has a right to be. As mentioned his warlock blood pulsing slow and methodic and oh so tempting in his veins. Micheal licks his lips as we stare out through the cracks in the wood.
Behind the man shifts a boy. My age perhaps? He's dressed in a green button up, and has dark red hair and soft grey eyes, milky and pale. He's the one who smells like my favorite drink, rich and thick and almost cool. His hair is neatly slicked back, and he's unusually pale for a mortal, dressed rather formally as well and wearing nice shoes. He's got a duffel bag and is carrying a backpack and trying to tug a rolling bag.
"Go on, tell them your name," West says, ushering the kid in like he's ready to be rid of him.
"Hi," the boy says, clearly shy, eyes flitting between the Forrests.
"He's Damien Mason," West says, strolling in casually to prowl around the living room.
"My mom calls me Danger," the boy says, biting his lip. Oh you are. The magic in him is enough to get me drunk standing this close. He's as thick with it as his unwilling chaperone. And I'm not going to get a taste of either of them. Well, I hardly want to cross swords with West.
"Hi," Mrs. Forrest says, just studying the boy. What is going on?
"Are you my father?" Danger asks Mr. Forrest hesitantly.
What? He has another kid?
"No, I'm not your father," Mr. Forrest says, with a cruelty I haven't heard in his voice before. It's enough to make me start, me here in my hiding place. The boy entirely cowers.
"That's your father, you're gonna stay with him while we find out what happened to your mother. He will come to terms with his responsibility likely before one of you dies," West says, leaning on the fireplace distressingly near our hiding place.
"What?" Lucy looks between her parents.
"We'll talk," Mrs. Forrest, who clearly wants West to go.
"I'm not your father. You can stay here with us," Mr. Forrest says, "I don't—know why your mother would have said that. I didn't know her."
"You knew her long enough. You're on the birth certificate and your family has a history of warlocks, which hers doesn't, at all," West says, nearly cheerfully, clearly enjoying the conflict.
"She always told me you were my dad. She said she told you about me and that you didn't want me because I'm a warlock," the boy says, softly, tears are gathering in his eyes.
"She did?" Mrs. Forrest says.
"Yes," the boy says.
Lucy is crying, looking between her parents.
"She always said you were my dad," Danger says, softly.
"I'm not," Mr. Forrest says, shaking his head, "I am not your father."
"Interesting she knew you had a warlock in your family and knew your name and enough of your personal information to put on a birth certificate if you never knew her? That's what you're going with?" West asks, completely amused.
"I'm not his father," Mr. Forrest says, "I'm not. This is—some sort of mistake."
"Cool. Hi Lucy, you're getting tall, any word from Dashiell lately?" West asks, smiling at the girl who glares at him.
"Do you—need anything else, Commissioner?" Mrs. Forrest asks, clearly pained.
"Oh don't mind me I'm fine," West purrs, "Not like you're hiding anything else here in the house that you don't want me to see? Nor would you mind I take a pleasant stroll about the ground?"
"I mind two warlocks are in my living room with my wife and daughter. One of you is bad enough, so if you wouldn't mind leading every night creature and monster in the state someplace else?" Mr. Forrest asks, anger burning in his voice.
"Oh. Of course, fifty nine kills this month it tends to become monotonous after a time," West says, sauntering towards the door, "Unless you wanted more information about Naomi Mason? Who got a threatening letter from you telling her to have an abortion? There, Alexandra, might want to read that in your spare time." He drops a letter into Mrs. Forrest hands.
"You went through my mom's things?" Danger asks, eyes burning.
"Obviously. Oh don't look so glum, Jay, the kids' fourteen you missed 90% of its life as it is, it'll probably die in the next year or two just like your marriage," West says, walking slowly back to the doorway.
Mr. Forrest is nearly quivering in rage. Mrs. Forrest is about to cry. Lucy and the kid are crying. And I'm stuck in this wall drooling.