Witch Hunt the Wicked Wild

Alice -18

Alice

Sitting on the couch now, eyes narrowed and ready, I snuff and say to Henrik, who is hiding behind the coffee table — well, no, not hiding, but he skipped around to put it between him and me much too quickly. Glaring at him with my eyes on stun, I say, "That doesn't explain why I suddenly have the plague."

His left eyebrow turns into an arrowhead and stabs his hairline, and he loosens-up a little, "Yeah, sorry about that, but I didn't want to continue our familiarity without you understanding that I'm not truly human either."

I wondered if that were true. Witches are considered 'magical creatures' like fairies and gnomes. Unicorns and griffins as well. But the werewolf was considered a condition, or a blessing depending on the times and the change. "I don't know enough about your kind to make a comment. I honestly believed it would never come up. The last werewolf reported was in 18th century, Alaska.

I shook my head to bring it back to the topic, "Anyway, so I'm an informed adult... Or is there something else you are protecting me from with the coffee table?"

His shoulders drooped and his weight shifted bringing him back around, "I am just trying to be a good guest. That is all." He says this and then turns on his heel and walks toward the kitchen. I hear bottles clinking and then he is back with two fresh beers. "Look, I'll get you drunk and take advantage of you, alright?"

I smile and accept my bottle, "After though."

"After?" he replies but then the penny drops, "Oh, right, after the algol," he says, as he sits down next to me.

Smiling I move closer and snuggle a little against him. "Yes, and about that... you mentioned something about being able to capture it on your own? Why didn't you do that?"

"Because of what I need to become to do that. It is generally disturbing to witness."

"You grow hair and fangs?" I ask, sitting up enough to look him in his amber eyes as I sip my beer, trying to keep my excitement out of my own eyes.

"As well as a foot taller, and devilishly handsome," he adds.

"No beast?" I ask, caught by the surprise, shocking a pouty lip from me.

"Beast? No beast. What do I look like? — No, I'm kidding. And with the beast come the screams." This last he says with nostalgic regret.

"Do you think the algol has moved?" I ask.

Henrik takes a drink from his beer, and then looks to the ceiling, "Hard to say. I don't actually know that much about them. But it is tired. That's certain. We ran the thick part of two days before this. My guess would be if no one has flushed it out, it will be right where we left it."

Nodding I did a little planning and math behind my eyes, then ask him, "What do you need?"

He finishes his beer in a series of gulps and sets the bottle on the coffee table, "Need that for the trap."

"The bottle?"

"Should work. It's what we always use," he explains. He set the bottle down but continued to study it. "The glass is clear." Then he slices his fingernail across his palm. A welt of blood stretched out to follow his finger.

"What are you doing?"

Taking up the bottle he held it under his wounded hand and squeezed his fist. Blood dropped in through the neck and down the inside. "Baiting the trap."

"Is that it? Just blood in a beer bottle?"

"The beer isn't actually required. I like to keep my standards up, however."

"How does that work?"

"Effortlessly," he replies.

"What, you just toss it at him?"

"Even easier. Just get it close enough to smell the blood. It will fly right into the bottle and we put a cork in the hole. Then we figure out what to do with it."

I sat back and ran that through my mind, "It really seemed to be strong enough to break out of the bottle."

"Oh, yeah. I mean, look what it did to me."

"Can't say I don't have doubts then."

"About the bottle? No worries there. It won't break out. It will just settle in and eat the blood. It won't even try to get out."

"Why?"

"Outside is loud, scarry. The Hunt is out here. Inside is comfy, with blood, and warm. Also the bottle protects it from my touch. So it can feel me, without me feeling it."

"And this has worked for you before?" The doubt in my voice could not be hidden by a hundred brave athemes played by marching bands.

"Yes."

I ran that through my brain again, and reflexively shrugged. What was I going to do? Argue?

It is impolite to poke 'magical creatures' about the details of themselves. There are of course themes and combinations which tend to act in predictable and familiar ways — and one wants to verify or discover if any of those characteristics are part of a new acquaintance's personality soon. Before teaming up with them to do anything dangerous, certainly. But I had already gone with him once, and could not bare to learn the algol had injured someone because I didn't act.

Deciding there was nothing for it, and that the moment for caution occured before I attempted the ritual this morning, I finished my beer and then found him some more clothes.