Awakening

Prologue

 

 

 



A thin crescent moon winked behind a thick blanket of grey, stormy cloud. There were no stars visible tonight; the darkness was two steps from infinite. In the faint glow of the fading moon, a young woman stood by a fallen tree, surrounded by shadow. She bore a look of steely determination on her features, an expression of a very important woman on a very important mission. And she was.

Matilda Crisp was a senior agent of elimination at the International Association of the Supernaturally Gifted, an incredibly significant and revered position at the IASG. Well, she wasn’t a senior agent quite yet, but she was certain that her current mission was worth a juicy promotion, provided she could pull it off. And that was almost definite. Almost, since there was just a very small snag to her mission. Well, actually, it was a rather large snag, fairly problematic in the overall scheme of things.

Matilda had been ordered to find and dispose of Ainslie Hemlock, a witch who had been sighted brutally slaughtering a group of no less than 43 mortals by Roselle Bay on the 12th of June. The problem was that no one had seen or heard of Hemlock since then, and it was rumoured that she had killed herself instead of facing justice. Matilda knew that she was still alive, but because everyone believed that Ainslie was pushing up daisies, no one had even the slightest clue to her whereabouts, beyond ‘the bottom of the bay’.

Matilda had made a breakthrough, however, a breakthrough that had led her to a small eucalypt forest just out of Sydney. Earlier that week, Matilda had been scouring local magical communities, desperately searching for dirt on Ainslie. She had been laughed out of many bars and hangouts with a chorus of ‘She’s been dead for 3 months, idiot!’ But just when she was about to give up, she met Edgar Crombie, a werewolf living in northern Sydney, and Ainslie’s ex-room mate.

After a heavy amount of bargaining, Edgar had agreed to meet Matilda on the condition that he would receive financial compensation for his help on the case. So Matilda found herself awaiting his arrival, with a case of 18 grand grasped firmly in hand.

The sound of twig crunching beneath boot echoed around the dark forest, and a short, balding man with an enormous beer-belly appeared in Matilda’s peripheral vision. He was in desperate need of a shave and an ironed shirt.

“Mr Crombie.”Matilda turned and addressed him curtly.

“Ms Crusp.” He bowed his head in mock respect. “You got my loot?”

“It’s Crisp, and if you’re referring to the money, then yes, I do.” She responded slightly irritably.

“Of course I’m talking about the bloody money! What else would I be talking about, your shoes?” He cackled throatily at his own joke, while Matilda self-consciously sneaked a quick glance at her unfortunate choice of footwear, a pair of six-inch peep-toes completely inappropriate for their bushland surroundings.

“Anyway, you know where Miss Hemlock is, do you not?”