All roads lead to home.
"What's wrong, mate?" said Alex, when I sighed for the third time since the bell rang.
I mourned my breakfast in silence, which Moses successfully prevented. Never mind, it's almost lunchtime anyway, I encouraged myself.
"Nothing," I grumbled. Nothing that concerns you. "I'm just wondering what I should have for lunch. What do you think, hamburgers or pizza?"
Alex didn't answer, but gave me a doubtful look and turned back to his notebook.
"Hey," he turned to me later.
"Hm?"
He held up his notebook, under which he had this time hidden a blue note. I wanted to sigh but restrained myself. I didn't even read the silly scribble.
"I think it's Zita," he added with a goofy grin.
Is that your biggest problem, idiot?—I thought, watching the wolf's shaking hand. The pen fell from his fingers and then clattered loudly on the table. Alex quickly picked it up and subtly looked towards me, but I was staring blankly at the puffs of clouds floating behind the window. Alex quietly let out the breath he had been holding in his lungs. He didn't want me to realize the obvious, and I pretended not to know.
Back at our place, the usual banter had taken on a slightly different tone. Rolo was on a mission, and I had a feeling I was his next target.
"Shay, come on," Rolo started, his eyes determined as he leaned against the kitchen counter. "We have to go to Hedvig's shop. I really need those books."
I leaned back in my chair, giving him a skeptical look. "Why do I have to go with you? Can't you just order them online or something?"
Rolo huffed, rolling his eyes. "Good luck ordering cursed bands online. Besides, half the books she has aren't even listed online. They're unique, Shay. Irreplaceable."
I sighed, glancing at the pot Alex was stirring on the stove. "I don't know, Rolo. Hunters' territory isn't exactly my favorite hangout."
"Shay," Alex chimed in, not looking up from his cooking. "you can't let Rolo go alone. He might get the urge to gamble with hunters and end up as a rug in some hunter's den."
Why don't you go with him then, Mama Bear?
"Whatever," I grumbled. "Doesn't change the fact that I don't want to go."
I sighed, about to give another excuse when Rolo played his trump card. "If you don't take me to Hedvig's, I'll just go visit the Sorcerer Lord instead."
My mood soured instantly. "That's low, even for you."
Rolo smirked, knowing he'd won. "Desperate times call for desperate measures."
"It's just one afternoon," Alex added, stirring the pot on the stove. "And I don't like the idea of Rolo visiting that mage either."
"You guys are ganging up on me," I accused. "It's not fair."
"As I was saying, desperate times call for desperate measures," Rolo repeated with a grin.
For some reason, I felt uncharacteristically nervous and terribly frustrated. Maybe that's why I agreed to take Rolo to Hedvig's shop after school. Of course, Rolo had been persuading me to do this for quite some time, but I honestly didn't blame him for not daring to enter the realm of the hunters on his own. No monster in his right mind would dare. So, I finally gave in and let him drag me along.
I figured we'd spend at least two hours searching before the gremlin kid was satisfied, so I looked for some too. I walked over to an arbitrary rack and grabbed the first book I saw. This wasn't really unusual—I'm not known for being fascinated by antique literature. I ended up just browsing through the books without reading until I got bored.
I plopped down in the armchair next to Hedvig. She pushed her glasses up her nose and inserted a braided bookmark between the two pages of the book.
"You used to be more enthusiastic about books," she chuckled.
I shrugged. "Guess I've got other things on my mind these days."
"I'm glad for you, Shay," Hédi murmured softly.
I raised an amused eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I'm glad you have friends," she smiled, "You used to seem so heartbreakingly lonely."
Indeed, Hedvig was one of the few people among the hunters whose first thought wasn't how to kill me when they were looking at me. She had always been more interested in understanding than judging.
I snorted. "If you only knew how much trouble they bring."
Hédi chuckled, leaning back in her chair. "Trouble? I'd imagine you wouldn't have it any other way."
I rolled my eyes. "Well, sometimes I could do with a bit less drama. And less babysitting."
"This little cat is adorable," she countered with a twinkle in her eye. "Besides, from what I've seen, you handle him pretty well."
"Thanks, I guess," I said, smirking. "But you have only seen Rolo on a book-shopping spree. He is much more unbearable most of the time."
Hédi laughed. "I can only imagine. He seems quite... particular."
"That's one word for it," I muttered.
We sat in companionable silence for a few moments, the soft rustling of pages and distant chatter filling the shop.
I watched Rolo as he carefully picked out books from the shelves, his eyes lighting up with each new discovery. His enthusiasm was infectious, and I couldn't help but smile as he immersed himself in his search.
Maybe this was why I kept fighting after all. The joy in his eyes, the excitement in his voice—these were the things worth fighting for.
Rolo's passion was a stark contrast to the darkness that often clouded my thoughts. It was a reminder that life went on, and that there were still things to cherish and protect. Even though Jo was gone, and her absence was a wound that never truly healed, there were still reasons to keep going. Who else would babysit this silly kid otherwise?
Before I could respond, Rolo appeared, a triumphant grin on his face and his bag stuffed with books. "Found everything I need," he announced.
"Good," I said, standing up and stretching. "Because I'm ready to get out of here."
As we made our way to the door, Hédi called after us. "Come back anytime, Shay. And bring your friends."
I nodded, giving her a small smile.
As we stepped out into the cool evening air, Rolo turned to me, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"
I rolled my eyes. He laughed.
(...)
After I got home, I decided to take a shower, but as soon as I felt the cool water wash over me, the shower turned into a bath. Mint-scented foam surrounded me, and I sank into the water, feeling the tension in my muscles slowly dissolve. There's nothing quite like this—a brief escape from the chaos outside and the chaos within.
Leaning my head against the cold tiles, I let out a long breath. Tonight was a full moon. I could feel the monster inside me stirring, a restless presence that never fully went away, even on calmer nights. The beast was a part of me, a dark inheritance. A terror that lives in everyone, I've just got a little more of it because of my fae ancestors. But tonight, the monster was more like a distant echo, a manageable itch rather than an uncontrollable urge.
I slowly got out of the water and walked to the mirror as I was, wet and ice-cold. My wet skin was pale, the water droplets clinging to me like beads of cold sweat. There was a difference between me and the beast. While I looked human, the beast inside was something else entirely.
I ran a towel through my hair, the motions automatic.
The monster inside me, the one that has always been lurking beneath the surface, purred with a familiar presence. It's been with me so long I've learned its rhythms, its patterns, its... instinct. I think I understand it now, maybe more than I care to.
It's not about conquering or ruling over others. It's not some primitive urge to fight or dominate. No, the monster doesn't care for power in the way most think. It has a singular, simple purpose: to devour. It's like hunger, a gnawing, ever-present thing that can't be satisfied.
I felt it now, coiling within me. Its hunger was my own, though it was not always easy to admit. There was a part of me that couldn't fight it, a part that almost relished the unquenchable thirst.
This monster is me.
For a while, I tried to hide it, tried to deny it... but when I accepted it, I felt a little relieved. I was afraid that one day the beast would get loose. But if I was the beast, I didn't have to worry about it devouring me.
I've been thinking about the monster inside me, about how it sees the world. It's shifting, evolving in ways I didn't anticipate. It's not just about hunger anymore; it's more... nuanced. Over time, it's developed a kind of system, a way of categorizing everything it encounters.
1. Things too easy to devour: The obvious ones. Those who don't put up a fight, who don't even realize they're prey. They're the ones the monster tears through without a second thought, the ones that barely register as things. It's instinctual. Quick, clean, and finished before they even realize what happened.
2. Things worth devouring: Then there are the ones that catch the monster's attention. Not just any meal, but something with substance. Something that could sate its hunger for longer. A challenge, perhaps. It's not as simple as mindless hunger; these things have value, something worth taking.
3. Things that make it hungry: These are the ones that stir something deeper in the monster. The ones that tease it, provoke it. Something about them unsettles the monster, making it want to rip into them, to claim them.
4. Things tricky to devour: These are the ones the monster hesitates over. Hard to reach, protected in some way, or simply too dangerous to attack head-on. They're elusive, harder to pin down. The monster doesn't like them—they're frustrating. They challenge it, force it to rethink its hunger, its methods. They aren't quite worth devouring, but they're far from easy.
5. Kin: And then there are the ones that confuse the monster the most. The ones it used to see as just another thing to devour, but now? Now, the monster sees them as kin. They're not prey, not food. They belong to it in a way. They're ours, the people that the monster has learned to hold dear. It's not about hunger anymore with them—it's about something deeper, something the monster can't quite wrap its head around, but it knows it's different.
It's strange. The instinct to devour, to consume everything around me, was once all-encompassing, an insatiable need that blurred the lines between hunger and destruction. But now? Now, the monster sees things differently. It's started to see others for what they are: not just meals, not just easy prey, but people—my people. It's learning what to keep, not just what to consume.
I glanced back at the mirror, half expecting to see the beast staring back at me with its wild eyes and bloodied grin. But no, it was just me—tired.
"Shay," a voice echoed in the small space.
"Hm?" I hummed, grabbing my toothbrush.
My reflection looked at me in surprise. "Are you okay?"
I shrugged, squeezing toothpaste onto the brush. "Why wouldn't I be?"
He narrowed his eyes at me, tilting his head. "You are unusually... hm, how shall I put it... You are less insufferable than usual."
I smirked, meeting his gaze through the mirror. "You want me to shatter your mirror?"
He raised his hands in mock surrender.
"All right, all right!" he held out his hands, "I just wanted to say that if you let me out, I'll grant you a wish..."
I grinned, a hint of the beast's wicked humor seeping through. "Don't waste your breath."
With that, I turned on my heel and left the bathroom, leaving the bogey to sulk in the mirror.
"See ya!"
As I went about my quiet little life, I pretended not to notice what was happening around me. No—that wasn't quite right. I noticed everything, but I wasn't ready to acknowledge it yet. That was why, when I stepped out of the bathroom and made my way to the kitchen for a cup of cocoa—because really, there was nothing better after a bath—I deliberately ignored the phone resting on the table.
My gaze slid past it, avoiding the dark screen as if it might burn me. It sat there, silent and ominous, daring me to pick it up and face whatever fresh horror it held. I already knew what I'd find—more news about the disappearances, the murders. Another victim. Another gruesome discovery. Another empty promise that they were "closer" to finding the killer.
I was about to head upstairs when hesitation crept in. My fingers twitched. Don't look. But curiosity won. With a quiet sigh, I reached for the phone. The screen flared to life, and the headline was there, waiting for me.
[The murder mystery continues! More victims!]
I skimmed the article, but the words blurred together. Torture. Blood loss. No connections between the victims. The same grim pattern, repeating over and over. My grip tightened around the phone, but I didn't have the energy to absorb more of it. With a sigh, I switched it off and set it back on the table, as if that could make it all disappear.
A wave of exhaustion settled over me—not just physical, but something deeper, something bone-deep. I was tired of being the hero, tired of holding everything together. Tonight, I decided, I wouldn't fight it.
Cocoa wasn't going to cut it this time. After reading the news, I had fully intended to drown my self-pity in a bottle of wine instead.
I pulled a glass from the cabinet and stared at the bottle for a long moment, as if it held the answers to all my problems. But as I reached for the corkscrew, my fingers hesitated.
A knock echoed through the quiet house.
I froze. The sound was soft, but in the stillness, it might as well have been a gunshot. It was late—too late for visitors. Irritation flared, then quickly faded into resignation. Of course my plan to wallow in well-earned misery was being interrupted. The universe just couldn't let me have this, could it?
With another sigh, I set the glass back down and left the wine untouched. It would have to wait.