Chapter 44 - Wicklow

Once inside of the borrowed home, I began to think about the man from the brewery. How was he able to affect me the way he was? What exactly was he doing to me? Also, why did he seem like he was running the show, and the vampires were all doing what he said? What were they going to do with those kids? One thing was certain, more and more questions about my dark world began to arise. Whoever he was… he knew about me before I knew about him. That was different.

I passed through a small section of caves on my way back home, hoping to see… something. I had literally nothing else to do so I figured I’d be productive and search the caves again. Maybe I’d get lucky. Should have known better. I had no such luck through the cold stone passageways. The only thing I found was a foul stench that clung to my clothes. As soon as I got home, I washed my clothes.

I tilted my head back on the comfy couch. It was relaxing and peaceful. Now that my world had slowed down enough, I began to think about better times. I remembered Autumn’s words. The way she spoke to me at their dining room table. The smell that lingered out from her and found its way into my senses and memory. I wished she was there with me at that moment. I wanted to talk.

After an unknown amount of time had passed as I sat on the couch, I heard a crash of thunder that snapped my eyes open. I could see the flash of lightning coming through the thick curtains that draped down every window in the place. I got up, feeling the house actually pulse and shake from the winds of the storm. I walked across the plush carpet to the window and pulled back the thick materials to see the rain beating down the earth around my home. The branches in the trees all danced and thrashed overhead, turning the trees from the solid ancient growths into flexible rubberized versions of their usual selves.

As I glanced outside to catch a quick glimpse of the storm, I saw a car parked on the side of the road. It was unfamiliar to me, but when I blackened my eyes to see through the rain, I recognized the faces that peered through the windshield. Bartley and Annabelle Wicklow were parked right outside.

“Sam,” Annabelle lightly spoke from within the car, “if you can hear me, please come out and speak with us.” That shit was weird. Their status and power were always a big question mark to me. The things they could do were as unexplainable as they were strange.

I opened the door and stepped out into the storm. The winds raged overhead, pushing and pulling my momentum in different directions. The uncatchable lightning cracked and slithered across the sky too fast to pin down. The storms around the city seemed to be getting worse and worse as my time back lengthened. I jogged over to the Wicklow’s car so I wouldn’t get too wet from the rain. I grabbed the door handle to the small black sedan and pulled the opening clear, stepping into the car quickly as the rain chased me in.

On the inside of the fancy black car were black leather seats accented by little wooden features that were polished to a mirror reflection. The Wicklows had money, that much was apparent, but they never flaunted it. Annabelle’s house that was burned down in Mercy’s fire was nothing to brag about, but I guess they were tied in with CWT Construction in their own way. Carter’s family had money, so why wouldn’t the Wicklows? I honestly didn’t know that much about the… yet.

“Sam, it is so good to see you again,” Annabelle’s old bones greeted warmly from beside me in the backseat. Her far surpassing age and knowledge were present on her face as she sat there in the back of the car.

“Sam,” Bartley Wicklow spoke more sternly in the front driver seat. He was more serious about all the unknowns I presented him with.

The entire Wicklow family shared similar features that I had grown accustomed to; Bartley, Patrick, and Shelta’s darker elements were all from the same source. Annabelle shared all of those, only aged to a higher degree, where they had started to lose their similarities to wrinkles and grey. They were all the same blood, except Bartley’s wife Sarah, making them all very distinguishable in the joint family. Sarah was like the Wicklow’s version of Wayland, originating somewhere else, but just as involved as the rest of her family.

“This is… unexpected,” I noted to both of them as I sat in the backseat, slightly wet from the rain.

“Yes,” Annabelle agreed, nodding with a smile. “So was what happened at the Lemp Brewery. We heard that you played a part in keeping Patrick safe from those that presented themselves there.”

“That man, he wanted to take Patrick with him for some reason. I don’t know why, but he picked him out from everyone else. They never touched him though, not like Clara,” I assured.

“We heard,” Bartley spoke, half turned in the driver’s seat. “I was sorry to hear that she was hurt on the hunt, but I’m glad to know that she’ll be fine. I’m also very appreciative of what you did for Patrick.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but he was restraining himself.

“So am I,” Annabelle added. “I cannot see, nor predict you like I can with everyone else. We had no clue what would happen there since you were in the vicinity. I wish Patrick would’ve told us what he was doing, then I could have looked out sooner. I didn’t see the gaps in time until it was too late to adjust events already in motion.”

“I’m just glad I made it in time. It was close,” I admitted.

“Those vampires were guarding human kids that were kidnapped from around the city. This wasn’t the first interaction you have had with them, is it?” Bartley asked.

“No, I told Carter what I found out, and they took it from there. Martin was the one who told me where they were going, and they’d probably run into trouble,” I explained.

“The crows led you, didn’t they…” Annabelle had an understanding look as she spoke.

“Yes… how did you…” I thought she couldn’t see me like the others.

“Carter told me.” She smiled. I guess it was much simpler than I thought. “However, I saw what happened to that poor boy, once it was too late. An act that powerful…” she shook her head in disgust, “that kind of thing makes ripples. I felt it the moment he was killed. I watched the man who did it. I saw the crows around him, accusing him of the act. They don’t make mistakes; they can feel the deed that has been done. When a life is taken like that… they take notice. They won’t eat those who are killed so unjustly, they mourn them. They are nature's chosen watchers. They sense death itself, and when they see someone taken like Calvin was… it is said that they will watch the accused until justice is found.” She eyed me curiously, “Why they came to you, I am not sure.” She had questions, just like everyone else.

“Calvin was a part of something. Human trafficking maybe… except the man I tracked and killed told me that someone else was in control now. He said that “he” was taking people, and they wouldn’t be sold like normal. He said they’d all end up dead. Then, there was this man at the brewery. He was… strange. He had slick black hair, parted like a little kid going to get his picture taken. He was tall and thin… and he kept smiling,” I described him to the two gypsies. “The strangest part was that it seemed like he knew about me.”

“How do you mean?” Bartley was curious, but his eyes looked like they were searching for something.

“I… I haven’t felt myself lately. I’ve been… out of control, and the thing inside of me was clawing to get out. It was because someone had been targeting me, and I think it was him. When he saw me, it was like he realized he hadn’t taken me out like he thought he had. He had me all twisted up in pain on a rooftop just across from where everyone was fighting. I think he thought he killed me, but then when I showed up,” I remembered his face in that moment. He wasn’t scared at all. Even though he knew I would kill him, it was like he welcomed it. “He was only human, but he wasn’t as scared as those vampires were. They were terrified when they saw me through the shadows.”

The air between Annabelle and Bartley was thick with unspoken understanding, their eyes locking in a silent agreement.

“We’ll need to speak with Shelta,” Annabelle said, her voice low but resolute. Bartley didn’t hesitate; his hand flew to the ignition, and the engine roared to life with a sudden, impatient growl.

“What?” I blurted out, my heart kicking up a notch. The urge to bail surged through me, an almost instinctual response. I didn’t trust the Wicklows, didn’t know them well enough to follow wherever this was leading, and my hand tightened around the door latch. I was ready to jump out right there and then. The thought of being dragged along by them was grating on my nerves. They had shown up unannounced, expecting me to fall in line, and the arrogance of it rankled me the more I thought about it. They thought they could control me.

“Please, Sam,” Annabelle said, her tone pleading but with an edge that hinted at desperation. “We understand you don’t know us like you know Carter and Eleanor. But we’re trying to change that, to understand you. You’re special, Sam. We can see that much. Our families have enemies… old, deep-seated grudges that never die. One day, they might come looking for us. For Carter. For Jane. We may need you, Sam. Not just to protect us, but to protect those you care about, too. All we’re asking is that you let us speak with Shelta. She knows more about who we think this man could be. And I promise, Sam, you’ll want to hear what she has to say.”

Annabelle’s words twisted around me, tight and insistent. “You mean who he was,” I said, correcting her with a snap.

Bartley’s voice cut in from behind the wheel, a grim undertone seeping through. “We think he may still be alive. And if he is…he won’t stop coming for you.”

I released the latch, but my grip lingered. “No,” I said, voice hardening. “I killed him. I turned him to dust that night. There’s no way he could have survived that. Unless he’s squirming around as a pile of slop.”

Annabelle winced. “I hope you’re right, Sam. God, I hope you’re right,” Annabelle replied, but there was no confidence in her voice, only the brittle edge of doubt. “And I hope we’re wrong. But we need to know what Shelta thinks. I don’t want it to be him… I dread what it would mean if it is.”

“How would Shelta even know?” I asked, eyes narrowing as Bartley turned the car onto the main road, gravel crackling beneath the tires like bones under pressure.

“Shelta is the most…” Annabelle paused, searching for the right word, something to capture the strangeness and power of her daughter. “Gifted in our family. She can connect to things most of us can’t even sense. If anyone can trace this man, find out where he came from, it’s her. She’ll surpass me one day, Sam.”

“If she can control it,” Bartley muttered, half to himself, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“She will,” Annabelle countered, though the conviction in her voice wavered ever so slightly. Their family dynamic was raw and splintered. It was a constant push and pull of doubt and belief.

I sighed, feeling the pull of something far darker than I wanted to admit. “Fine,” I said finally, my curiosity winning out over caution. “I’ll talk with her.”

Bartley’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as he nodded, and the car sped up, the landscape blurring past.

“So… who was he?” I asked the question hanging heavy between us as the vehicle barreled into the unknown.

Annabelle patted my knee from across the back of the car, “I think it’s best if we wait for Shelta. No reason to worry for nothing.”

We rode through the darkened, stormy skies of the city outskirts. Shelta lived somewhere down south of St. Louis, across the river on the eastern side. The lightning cracked back and forth across the city as the wind whipped and tussled the car around.

“The storms are getting worse,” Bartley spoke ominously from the front.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“Yes… they are,” Annabelle acknowledged, looking out into the gloomy sky.

“I’ve noticed that too. What does it mean?” I asked.

“Things could be happening, someone could be watching, it could mean any number of things. There are many different forces in this world and many different beings that can affect various aspects of this place we live in. It could be nothing more than natural weather at its peak, or it could be something else,” she gave me non-answers. Now I knew how that felt.

“How was I blinded before?” I asked, thinking back to the night that the Chasse family had tricked me with some kind of spell or supernatural trick that I assumed was from the Wicklows. They lured me to their warehouse and placed some type of unseen effect on me. It made them completely invisible to me, and then they made the time pass by in an instant while they made their escape. It had always bugged me, and I thought now was a good time to ask.

“What are you talking about?” Bartley asked.

“When Carter had me go to his main office building, I didn’t see them, and then time got all… distorted. Something happened to me,” I said.

“That was me,” Bartley answered. “We knew you weren’t human, but we didn’t know what would work on you since we didn’t know what you were. We performed two rituals; one to keep those hidden from something inhuman, and another to slow the perception of time on any being touched by the supernatural. The first is a simple effect to create; the second, however, is much more difficult. It really tested my abilities,” Bartley spoke from the front.

“How do your abilities work?” I asked.

“How does your power work, Sam?” Annabelle asked to more prove a point. “Do you know the specifics? How do you become so large, so strong, or how can you survive hellfire? Some things just can’t be explained. What I can tell you is that we have our own ways apart from the Chasse family. Where they search their bestiaries and train physically, we study our family’s written word and learn the spells and effects that our ancestors developed as they grew in power. Our books are not bestiaries like the Chasses, they are much more than a few notes on strengths and weaknesses. Our bestiaries are more akin to a playbook. Family members that have come before would write what abilities, wards, or other powers derived from the gypsy blood were effective in certain situations or against certain creatures. We develop those abilities over time, so when the need arises, we’ll be ready. Some are born more naturally gifted, while others have to work and learn of those powers.”

“Shelta is a natural?” I asked.

“Yes,” Annabelle nodded. “But Bartley is much more studied and knowledgeable in our history and effectiveness. Natural abilities cannot be relied on when the time comes, we need training just as much as the Chasses.”

“What can Patrick do?” I asked, curious about what Autumn knew of his unusual abilities.

“Patrick has resisted a lot as he’s grown. If I am candid,” Bartley said, “when you first came around, you got Autumn’s attention. Patrick noticed, and he hasn’t paid enough mind to his studies. He’s been far too focused on her. That’s why he went out with them on that hunt the other night. He wants to be more like them. He thinks she’ll like that, and in turn like him as she used to.” Bartley shook his head at the thought.

“Do you not like Autumn,” I asked them both.

“Oh please,” Annabelle assured. “Autumn is a powerful warrior and a soft soul at heart. However, she made it clear to Patrick long ago that they should just stay friends. I think you know as well as I, Sam, that Autumn has gone through much in the time since we very first met you. She’s had a hard time and is just looking for something to ease her pain… and Patrick is familiar.”

Bartley joined in, “Patrick has been wrapped in Autumn's web by his own doing for too long. He should have the eyes to see what is happening with her. I think he keeps hoping she’ll want him back again. I honestly wish he’d see what’s in front of him. Sometimes, young men can be so blind,” he meant something that I honestly didn’t understand.

“Blind?” I asked.

“Kayla,” Annabelle answered me. “Kayla has been trying to get that boy's attention for as long as I can remember, but he’s always been so hung up on Autumn that he can’t see it.”

I was just the same. I hadn’t seen it yet, but I did now. The way Kayla was always picking at him, poking fun at him, slapping his ass after helping him up off the ground that night. She was flirting, in her own monster-hunter way. Having only a hardened father and uncle must have made it hard for her to speak her feelings like she probably could have if her mother was still alive to show her.

“I see that Autumn will have some time unaccounted for here shortly,” Annabelle admitted. “She’ll be safe,” she admitted, “I can see her on the other end of the void, but still… you might want to tell Eleanor and Carter about it. I am not sure how they will react, Sam.”

I nodded but didn’t speak a word. What she saw in her supernatural sight shocked me. Autumn was going to come to me. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited about seeing her again… alone.

“Is she safe… with you?” the eldest gypsy asked.

“She is,” I answered. “They all are.”

“Let’s hope,” she warned. “My allegiance has always been and will always be to the family. Even though we don’t know how to fight against you… I will if I have to… to protect them.” Her statement was scathing and unforgiving. She wasn’t scared of me, nor was she afraid to die to protect the ones she loved.

I nodded to the old woman as I looked into her piercing eyes.

We pulled into a suburban neighborhood in a town that I didn’t really recognize that well. The houses all looked very similar, the only difference being the flowers and greenery in each of the street-facing gardens. This place was built quickly from previously laid plans like a little treat popping out from beneath the cookie cutter.

We didn’t even go inside as we saw Shelta on a wooden porch swing that hung from eyebolts beside her front door. She was waiting for us.

“Hey Mom, hey Bartley,” she greeted calmly.

Shelta’s short haircut swung in the breeze as she lightly swung on her porch. She didn’t look as strained as she always did but still held focus in her eyes. I wondered if it was because of the powers she held from birth. Were the natural gifts she was given too much for her to live with at times?

“I already know what you’re going to ask,” Shelta stopped me in my tracks.

“You can see that?” Annabelle asked curiously. “Even with Sam here?”

“I can’t see him, but I still see you,” she explained. “His aura is… dark, but manageable enough that I can look around it.” “Do you think it’s him, sweetie?” the old woman stepped up to her daughter, hugging her neck.

Bartley mirrored his mother's actions and stood by his sister. I paced up to the steps of the small porch and waited for an answer.

“I’ve felt things for a while now, but I didn’t know how far I was reaching out. One night I felt something… and it scared me. Someone was watching me, trying to see what I was doing… what we were all doing,” Shelta shook as she thought about whom she spoke of. “The presence is just like I remember… only darker… stronger.”

“Damn it,” Bartley admitted his fear.

“So, it was him,” Annabelle sighed.

“Who?” I asked quickly, annoyed that they were leaving me out of their strange unspoken conversation.

Shelta turned to me and spoke, “I’m not certain, but Peter is who they are talking about; Peter Grimwood. He isn’t like anyone you’ve ever met before.”

Who the hell was Peter Grimwood? Why was he such a big deal, and, if it was him, why was he able to mess with me the way that he was?

“I think we should step inside and take a seat, Sam,” Annabelle suggested. “This is a long story.”

After about half an hour of convoluted explanation, I thought I was finally getting it. I replayed the information to them as we sat on Shelta’s sectional couch inside of the quaint little modern home.

“So, Peter Grimwood was from the original Grimwoods that was cast out of your collective… family,” I searched for the right words.

“He is a descendent, yes, just like us,” Shelta clarified.

“And you met him ten years ago when you all reached back out to the Grimwood clan when you were trying to break the Talbot curse?”

“Yes,” Bartley answered.

“Why did you want to do that?” I asked.

“The Talbots have been through a lot in their time since they were cursed. Their family rises and falls by the curse. They can never have real lives so long as the beast inside rules them. There is no other creature as ferociously vicious as the werewolf on a full moon,” Annabelle reminisced. “Except for you, that is,” she amended her statement.

“Long story short,” Bartley began to explain, “When Jane was taken by the curse, and we saw the damage it had done to Frank and Jane both, we decided to search. We thought it had been long enough, and that maybe the current Grimwoods wouldn’t have any kind of grudge over what happened in the past with our families. We thought that they might want to help break the curse that their bloodline put on the Talbots. Rejoin the collective clan…” Bartley huffed, “We were wrong.”

“What happened?” I asked.

Shelta spoke next, “We met with them, learned from them, and fell in deep with them. They were like new members of the family. They were all more than willing to bury the hatchet until the night we met Peter. Peter was different than the rest of his family. He lived loosely, only coming around when he needed something from his parents. There were previous issues that we were not aware of between the Grimwoods and Peter. He thought our bloodlines should be merged, just like in the past. He didn’t want to help cure the Talbots, he wanted to kill them, and the Chasses. Now that they knew our families still existed, only in America, Peter was hatching a plan. He was sickened by his own family’s willingness to forgive us for casting them out.”

“Why would he think that? It happened so long ago,” I asked.

“Apparently, Peter had a great uncle who was still very old school. He was shunned by most of their family, except for Peter. Peter learned a lot from his great-uncle. He even learned to hate all of our families. His great uncle was a natural, very gifted, and he had decades of knowledge and experience that he passed on to Peter,” Bartley explained.

“Peter used some kind of ability he learned from his uncle to steal all of his family’s power. When he did what he did, they all died. Every single one of them,” Shelta began to develop tears in her eyes at the memories, which confused me.

Her short dark hair hung around her head as she leaned over in tears. Something in her mind was being revealed again after so many years of forgetting it had happened.

“It was like he sucked the life right out of them. He took on abilities that were not meant for him. He became more powerful than anyone else in our family, even Shelta. That’s why it took all of us to beat him. We all converged on him quickly, unleashing the full power of our family against him. As our family was much stronger back in the old days, so were we on that day. It took everything we had on that dreadful evening, but he was no match for all of us. He was killed and buried with his family,” Annabelle said.

“That was a kindness that he didn’t deserve,” Bartley spat at the memory. “Shelta’s power was connected with his for a moment near the end. That’s why we think she’ll be able to tell if it is him or not. A connection like that is not easily forgotten.”

“Patrick was too young to remember Peter from back then, so I don’t think he would have recognized him. But Shelta would,” Annabelle suggested. “At first, I thought you might look into Patrick later, to see the man’s face.” She looked between Shelta and me. “However… I wonder. Shelta, do you think you could look into Sam’s memories and see his face? If you saw past Sam to us coming here,” she thought aloud. “Maybe look around him to what happened there that night.”

It was a good thing they understood each other because I had no clue what the hell they were talking about. Their gypsy ways were foreign to me and didn’t make sense, so I just went with it.

Shelta nodded, “I’ll give it a try.”

I nodded as well, interested to see what would happen, “I’ll try.”

We rose from the couch in the dim, shadow-filled living room of Shelta’s home, tension thick in the air. Shelta stepped forward, her eyes sharp and unreadable, and without warning, she raised her hand, pressing her palm against the side of my face. The instant her skin met mine, a violent surge of raw power erupted between us. An explosive force detonated like a thunderclap.

The impact was catastrophic, a shockwave ripping through the room with a ferocity that felt like being hit by a wrecking ball. It blasted us apart, throwing us like ragdolls. I was cast out through the living room window, through the wooden handrail of her front porch, and into her yard. Once my momentum stopped, I was lying in a bed of wood chips and shattered glass. Shelta was flung against her living room wall, knocking the pictures and decorative accents to the ground. Her power was intense.

“Shelta, are you okay?” Bartley came to his sister’s aid in a heartbeat. Annabelle leaned down after the startlement subsided.

She shook and shivered as she leaned up into her brother's arms, “It’s him… I saw his face. It was only for a second, but…” she could barely gather her thoughts as I lay in the grass watching. “Peter’s not dead!”

I stood up from the ground unscathed, but a little fuzzy from the shockwave. I stepped forward toward the front window to look in on the three Wicklows. What did she mean; did he survive back then, or when I killed him at the brewery?

“No,” Shelta barked out fearfully as I stepped forward. She threw her arms up defensively as I approached the window, even though I was still outside. She was terrified of me. What else had she seen? What did she feel when she touched me?

Annabelle spoke to me as she wobbled to her feet from the kneeling position, “Sam, thank you for what you have done. You’ve helped us discover who was out there taking people. Peter Grimwood was behind this horrid tragedy, and I fear…” she was looking inward at her own terror, “he may still have survived you, somehow. However,” she looked to her petrified daughter, “let us deal with this in our own way. We still do not know much about you, and it seems that there is still much to be discovered about what all this could mean. Thank you for coming with us, but do you think you could make it home on your own?”

I nodded, catching the drift. The reaction from Shelta after she had touched my face to read my memories, wasn’t one they had ever seen before. The look on Bartley and Annabelle’s face said everything to me… I can’t describe what she looked like. Terror wasn’t a powerful enough word for what she had written across her face. It wasn’t Peter Grimwood that she feared… it was me; or what was inside of me.

I turned instantly, bolting through the rain and into the nearest expanse of trees I could find. I was a long way from home since my ride had just told me to basically kick fucking rocks, but I’d be alright. I’d make it home, only a little wetter than I was planning. So, I ran through the woods as fast as I could under cover of the grey storm clouds. They darkened so much that it was bordering on dusk out across the sky. Only the lightning turned the atmosphere bright with what could almost be a replacement for the sun, in millisecond bursts. As the storm raged outside and within me, I ran.