While the twins were waking, Diana and I packed the car. To my shock, the two of them left their bags by the door, ready to leave as fast as possible.
"I told you they're eager," Diana said as she picked one of them up. "
I let out a sigh. "We'll see how this goes."

          It had only just passed eight and the sun hadn't yet broken through the horizon, hiding behind the old-bricked houses of the neighbourhood. Frost gathered on the blades of grass poking out from the frozen dirt that crunched beneath my feet. Winter would be arriving soon and I hoped, if I managed to find him, dad would allow us to take break over the coming weeks. Hunting was difficult in the Winter months, but more jobs managed to come through after Christmas. It was foolish to think dad would let me stay at home.

          Diana handed me Alfie's bag to shove in the back. "Do you have enough weapons?"

          I opened up the compartment at the floor of the car boot, revealing the stash dad instructed me to keep. Since his car broke down months ago, my car had become the primary vehicle for our hunting trips. My only rule was that I was the one to drive it; I wouldn't sit in the passenger seat of my own car.

          Diana smiled. "Such a Lupine. And your crossbow?"
I tapped my pocket. "Always close."
She gazed at it longingly as though she could see through the leather. "God, I love that thing."
"You could get your own as well," I suggested.
"Oh. No, I can't."
"Where did you get it from the first time? Surely you could get another."
She shook her head. "My hunting days are over, I imagine," she said with a sigh.

          I gave a sympathetic squeeze of her shoulder as I headed inside to grab the last of the bags. She never wanted to give up hunting but her children came first. After Uncle Freddie's death, she was left with no choice but to retire at just 33. She would go back to hunting in a heartbeat if she could, but told none other than me that fact to escape the guilt from Ollie and the twins. I wondered if she would go back to it when Ollie was old enough to take care of himself, or if the lack of training had rusted her skills and made her reluctant.

          We joined the others for an abnormally large breakfast – even for Diana – made up of crispy bacon, runny eggs, juicy sausages, tomatoes, beans and toast. I filled myself to the brim, almost hitting the point of sickness, then chugged a mug of coffee, brushed my teeth and ushered the twins outside. Poor Alfie had barely made it out the door when Florence shoved him in the shrubs, calling her claim on the front seat.

          Ollie had followed us outside with a look even more solemn than what he usually held when I left for work. A lot of teenagers would grow used to their family leaving so much, but not Ollie. At least it showed he still cared, even if it made it harder for him.

          "Will you be gone long?" He asked when the twins were out of earshot.
I shared an unsure glance with Diana, who shrugged with a silent apology. "I'm not certain, if I'm honest. But I promise: when I come back, I'll be home for a while."
"You always say that."

          His glare fell do the grass, watching the morning dew drip from the wilting blades.
"Hey." I tapped his chin with a forced smile. "I'll miss you."
"You always say that as well."
"And I mean it. When I get back, we'll go somewhere nice. I promise. Wherever you want."
"I don't care what we do. I just want you home."
Dad would be furious, but I replied, "Two weeks. I can promise two weeks at home."
He smiled. "Really?"
I mirrored his smile. "Really." Dad wouldn't be pleased for not being consulted first, but he could hunt on his own if he was so desperate. I hated the thought of him hunting alone, but he could pick more straightforward jobs if he wished.
"Thank you," Ollie replied. "Then I guess I'll see you soon. Hopefully."
"Hopefully."

          I pulled him into a hug tighter than he expected. He flinched but soon relaxed. Every hunt was a risk, of course, but I didn't have dad nearby to back me up this time. I had been on solo hunts before, however, I didn't have the burden of the twins and dad's access to advice was missing this time if I needed him.

          Diana finished saying her goodbyes and wrapped her arms around me. Once the twins were in the car, she whispered into my hair.
"Bring them back. All of them."
I held her tighter. "I will."

          She composed herself when she released me and smiled at the three of us.
"Right. Good luck you three. I know you'll make me proud."

          Diana waved us off with Ollie by her side, his smiling fading with every second. If he knew what we were doing – that we were tracking down a group of witches – maybe he would understand that could have been the last time we would see each other.

          I snapped out from my fears and swerved in the road as the radio blasted throughout the car. Florence smacked the volume button in panic.
"Sorry!"

          I glared as Alfie howled with laughter in the back. I glanced at the rear-view mirror. The street was still in sight and I could have turned around if I wished.

          To my own surprise, I bit the bullet and carried on driving.

***

Room 432. Parkview Tower. Edinburgh.

          We made it to the location after a relatively easy journey lasting almost four hours. Clouds had been forming overhead for the past hour, but they had not yet burst, leaving the roads dry and as safe as they could have been.

          I pulled up in the car park around the back of the red-bricked building. It was just past midday and, despite the large breakfast we had demolished that morning, the twins had already complained that they were hungry.
"That was four hours ago," said Florence. "We're starving."
"I'll look into this lead then we'll go for food, if we must."
"If we must. God forbid we're hungry," she tutted.
"I?" Alfie echoed. "Aren't we all going inside?"
"No," I replied, turning off the engine. "I don't know what's in there."
"Which is better reason to go as a group."
"Which is better reason to keep you both out here where its safe. I shouldn't be long."

         They shut up when I left the car and headed inside, crossbow in my pocket with a small quiver strapped inside my jacket. I greeted the receptionist and asked for directions to Room 432, as I was visiting a family friend and wanted to surprise them for their birthday. She gave up the information quickly – so fast that I was actually concerned for the lack of security – and I was left to my own devices in the elevator.

          The room had to hold something. Even a hint to where dad may be or what the cult was after. He was a tactical man and had to have known something there would help me find him.

          The elevator chimed as I reached the fourth floor and I stepped out. Now was the time to arm myself just in case. I removed the box from my pocket and, with a flick of my thumb on the switch, the arms of the crossbow spread out like wings, stretching into a useable weapon. I took an arrow from my quiver and nocked the bow.

          Silence surrounded me as I walked through the hall, counting the rusting gold numbers on the decaying doors. This was an old building, the wall an ugly off-white and the carpet an odd nineties pattern of red and gold swirls. I was surprised it had lasted this long with approved security inspections.

          I passed more doors: Room 428, 429. I was getting close now. I raised the crossbow to my chin, the silver tip of the arrow aiming for every target that caught my eye.

          As I reached for the handle, I froze. The door had been left slightly ajar, hinges creaking as it swayed an inch forward and back. The witches had gotten there first, as I suspected, breaking the lock with a mighty force only magic could have achieved without leaving a boot print on the door.

          I touched the painted door with the crossbow, letting it fall open.

          The floor had been coated entirely in notes and paper so much that I couldn't see the true colour of the wood inside. They rustled in their unorganised piles as burgundy curtains flapped in the wind of an open window. The breeze swung the door back and forth so viciously I had to close it behind me to stop my head from spinning at the incessant noise.

          I took a few steps inside, walking backwards in a circle to get a feel of the room. It was a typical living place for a hunter: quiet, small and fairly simple. There were often few indications of a home in a hunter's place of residence as they were usually on the move, making it difficult to carry many personal items at once.

          The first bedroom had little left in it; a few sets of masculine clothes but no weapons or hunting journals. I turned towards the second bedroom, halting as paper crushed beneath my boots.

          Out of curiosity, I picked it up, lips quirking at the notes of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata I once played as a teenager (when I lived with Diana most of the time and was not on the road with dad). The violin had been moved to the loft since then and I seldom practiced anymore. This piece, however, was made for a piano rather than a string instrument, which I would have struggled to keep up with. I looked up at the second bedroom, spotting the plug-in keyboard on the floor, and smiled.

          The smile didn't last long. The bedsheets in the room were crumpled, pillows thinning with age. Both beds had been slept in rather than just one, meaning two people – perhaps two hunters – lived there.

          Was this second hunter part of the ritual, too? If so, the witches were further ahead than I imagined and this was bad. Alternatively, the hunter was not involved and was away... or dead.

          Dad had me accompany him on almost every hunting trip since I was sixteen; the 'age of experience,' as he called it. I rejoiced the day I left with him for the first time, rather than being left at Diana's to study and train. Maybe this hunter had a similar relationship with his child and that was who occupied the second room.

          I took a step back into the living room, floorboards creaking beneath me. The hunter had to have something. A journal, a box, a... trunk.

          Disguised underneath the television, a large dark oak trunk had been left behind, untouched by the witches. I heaved the television onto the rug, crushing the paper beneath it, and reached for the lock. Having no key, I pulled a pair of hair pins out from my jacket and started picking the lock as I had been taught. After a moment, it clicked and I threw open the lid, meeting a collection of muted colour in the form of notebooks, journals, vials, salts and weapons. A smile tugged at my lips.
"Found you."

          As I reached for a tattered notebook, the door whined.

          My hand hovered over the frayed spine of the notebook as a gun unlocked, breaking the silence nothing but the wind had tried to fill.

          I could take no chances. In a swift movement, I spun around to face my foe, crossbow raised at eye-level to meet the scope of a rifle.

          He towered over me, looking down with frowning deep brown eyes that flitted between the crossbow to my scowling face.
"Tell me your name."
His voice was low, threatening but entwined with fear. I sharpened the ice in my eyes with a glare.
"You first."
"I believe I asked first."
"I was here first."
"This is my home."
"This is... sorry, what?"

          I looked from the two bedrooms, to the trunk, then back to the gunman. He was young – I guessed around my age or slightly older – and therefore it was unlikely he was involved in the ritual. Maybe I was right with my initial thoughts on him being the hunter's son. It wasn't uncommon.

          He eyed up the crossbow. "I take it you're not a witch."
I nodded at the trunk. "I take it you're a hunter."

          His lips tugged in a half-smile as he pulled the collar of his shirt down to show the small brand of the hunter's symbol etched into his skin. I moved my jacket away from my chest, exposing a matching mark I was awarded with the passing of my trials a few years ago.

          We lowered our weapons.

          "What's your name?" he asked. When I didn't respond, he laughed. "I live here anyway, but I guess I'll go first. Hi, my name is Alex Arwood. This is my home. Who are you and why are you in it?"
My cheeks flushed pink and I was sure I recognised the name. "Sorry," I said. "Erika Lupine."
"Lupine?" He cocked his head. "Christopher's daughter?"
"You know him?"
"Dad does," he said with a sigh. "But why are you here?"
"My dad is missing. I came here to find him."
He looked around, almost patronisingly. "I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but he's not here."
As if I didn't have eyes. "Clearly. I think there's a lead here somewhere."
"How so?"
"When the witches took my dad, he told them your address. He knew I was listening. I think he was sending me here to find something."
"Hang on," he snapped, "your dad told the witches where we were?"
"You've seen the witches?"
The confusion written on his countenance twisted into anger. "They took my dad because your dad led them here."
"It's the only lead he could give me, I suppose."
He clutched his rifle a little harder. My finger drifted to the crossbow's trigger. "Yeah and my dad would be fine if it wasn't for yours."
"The witches threatened my family," I argued, voice raising. "What would you have had him do instead?"
"Had him not put my father in danger, thank you very much."

          I let out a sigh. I would be angry at anyone putting my family at risk but that was dad's choice. He chose to risk another family to save his own, but he gave me a lead that would help to find both of them as well.

          "I'm sorry your dad was taken," I admitted. "But blame the cult – not my dad."
He blinked and exhaled. "I don't like this... but I'm sure every dad would do the same."
I nodded. "Did you learn anything from the witches? Anything at all that might help me find them."
"I was on a hunt when they arrived so I only saw them walk out. My dad had left a note behind, telling me not to follow. I did, of course, but lost their trail."

          I debated not telling him, but he was in the same position as I was. I needed his input. "The witches mentioned a ritual," I explained. "I don't know much about it, only that it needs the twelve hunters who took part in it originally, or their bloodlines. My dad's often detailed in his journals but there's nothing on this case. He left it out completely."
"My dad writes in his journal a lot. Every hunt, actually. If he's been doing that for as long as I think he has then there has to be something there. I'll look for them if you—"

          His voice faded out as I fixed on the figure behind him that the corridor without a single sound; tall and thin with pasty white skin and shoulder-length ebony hair. He raised his hand, lips stretched into a deadly smile.
"Duck!"

          Alex fell to the ground as I shot an arrow between the witch's eyes. It was a perfect shot but far too slow. Anticipating the reaction, the witch's fingers stretched out, slowing the arrow to a halt barely inches from his golden eyes.

          The witch tutted and my eyes widened as his fingers flicked, turning the arrow in my direction.

          I cursed and shielded my torso with a chair as Alex jumped behind the doorway. The arrow stabbed the base of the chair with a thud, halting just two centimetres away from my abdomen.

          Before I had the chance to reach for my crossbow, the chair was yanked from my hands. The witch pulled me forward and I landed in his grasp, hands tightening around my neck with a smile.
"You're a Lupine," he said. He touched my face in astonishment, moving a strand of hair away from my eyes. "I thought you would put up more of a fight, if I'm honest."

          I would. I snatched an arrow from my quiver and dug it into his abdomen. He screamed in agony and, in his rage, tossed me to the other end of the hallway. I bounced off the ground, rolling across the ugly carpet. The skin exposed on my wrists burned and I wheezed.

          Get up.

          I charged for the witch. He had thrown me so far, intending to hold me off while he held a hand over his wound to heal. He believed I would not get up and run so quickly and was horribly mistaken.

          I sprinted down the hall. Witches could die like any human but, unlike us, their spells and charms could heal them. As I got closer, my heart sank – the wound was too shallow to even scar.

          The wound healed and the witch raised his hand. I braced for an impact but found none. Alex threw himself at the witch from behind, grabbing hold of his throat. I darted forward to put an end to the fight but found myself stuck. The struggling witch had raised the carpet to snatch onto my feet while he dealt with Alex.

          I was stuck, but I still had my crossbow.

          The witch flipped Alex over his shoulder and, before he could cast, I sent an arrow flying. It didn't kill him but gave Alex time. Unarmed, he leapt to his feet and swung his wrist at the witch, cutting a long strip of red across his cheek. He snarled and staggered back, breaking the enchantment on the carpet.

          I kicked off the carpet and ran to join Alex. I raised my crossbow, ready to fire the final shot, as Alex swung his arm.

          With a deafening cry and a mighty force, the witch threw us back. He fled to the window inside Room 432 and by the time we caught up with him, he was gone, cloak billowing out from behind him as he jumped.

          We almost fell from the window ourselves.

          "He's gone," Alex growled. "Must have shadow travelled or something." A rare gift for a witch.

          I nodded, heartbeat loud and rapid, as Alex stepped back to my side, rubbing a dark gauntlet around his wrist. Within it, I spotted the tip of a blade coated in blood, thin like a needle.
"What's that?"
"This? Oh. I made it." He flexed his wrist to release a small but sharp blade at the end of the gauntlet. I stared in disbelief, still fighting for air.
"You made it?"
"Yeah. Just a fun hobby that helps with hunting."
I had no words. It was an impressive talent, but I rarely found hunters that created their own weapons. "That's... wow."
He grinned. "Thanks."

          I put my hands on my hips, taking slow but steady breaths to calm my heart. The twins were still in the car, unaware of what just happened. I was right to leave them there.

          "Are you...?" Alex cleared his throat. "Are you okay?"
I flinched at the concern. "Fine. You?"
He nodded. "Same."

          A few minutes earlier we were hostile to one another, untrusting of each other's intentions but now we had just defended each other from an attack, courtesy of the cult. It was awkward, I would admit that.

          Alex let out a low laugh. "Great first meeting, right? Come on, let's search dad's trunk."

          He dug inside the trunk, pulling a few of the coloured books out. Each of the journals was dated on the front with a metallic engraving of either silver or gold.
"One for every year," he said. "Perfect."

          He handed me a pile and sat on top of the desk to flick through the pages of one from the nineties while I leaned against the wall by the window with another. We judged that the ritual couldn't have taken place before either of our births, limiting our search to before 1995, if we were correct.

          Alex's father was meticulous with his writing. Every word read like a novel, describing each hunt with rich detail I would get lost in but did not have the time to do so. I rushed every sentence, skipping chapters that did not involve the presence of at least a witch.

          "Dad likes his detail," Alex admitted, turning another page. "I think if it wasn't for the family name, he would have become a writer."
"And what about you?"
He shrugged. "I never thought about what I'd be if I wasn't a hunter. It's all—"
"All you've been taught."
A humourless laugh. "We hunters like our legacies, don't we?"

          With a heavy sigh, he flicked a page. The journal I was assigned to had no mentioned of a ritual tied to a small group or cult of witches, so I picked up another; one bound in emerald green, modestly titled '1992.'

          Every hunt stayed just as detailed as the first journal. In fact, in this year, Mr. Arwood had become even more engrossed in the writing part of the hunt, sensationalising every action... in all but one entry.
"Alex. Look."

Per the request of my fellow twelve hunters who participated in this ritual, all details regarding the Cult of Chimera, hunted in late Autumn of 1992, are to be excluded from this entry in the interest of preserving the safety of the human world and protecting them from the resurrection of the Witch-Queen.

Despite our recent acquisition of the 'General' status, each hunter has made the conscious decision to go their separate ways. Christopher Lupine will be returning to his home in York to resume hunting, and Leopold Hopkins is abandoning his career to work in London in a field he was not inclined to disclose. As my most dear friends, I will miss them heavily.

          "The what of the what?" Alex's mouth gaped open. I blinked a couple of times to read the sentence again.
"The Cult of Chimera," I answered. "I take it you've never heard of it."
"If dad mentioned it, I wasn't listening." I could have rolled my eyes. "Bit of an intense name, isn't it?"

          I crossed my arms. A Chimera was a beast from Ancient Greek mythology. Did that mean this cult was old or simply inspired by the legends? I wasn't too familiar with that field of knowledge and struggled to decipher its significance.

          "Any ideas?" Alex probed.
"I'll think of something."
He snorted. "That's a no, then."
I sighed. "I don't see you participating much."
"Darling, without me, you'd be waiting in the corridor by yourself."
With a scowl, I read over the paragraph again. "What about this so-called 'Witch-Queen?' Have you heard of her?"
He shrugged. "Again, I've got nothing. But it doesn't sound good."
How useful he was. "Interesting observation," I replied, flicking through the next few pages for any further explanation. "That changes everything."
"Alright, you don't have to bite."
"Believe me: if I bit, you'd know it."

          He snorted and leaned back against the desk. I read the pages back and forth and, having nothing left to read, almost threw the journal at the wall.
"That's it," I groaned. "Nothing more. We don't know anything about the ritual."
"But we know more than we did earlier!"

          I held back an eye roll. The last thing I needed was a waterfall of optimism trying to convince me that the problem wasn't as big as I was making it out to be. I was entirely lost for information about the ritual. There was nothing to be optimistic about.

          What struck me as odd, however, was why dad never once mentioned this to me. Since I was a child, he had preached to me the importance of passing on every ounce of knowledge to the next member of your family line, whether that be through journals, training or general life lessons. This ritual, or even the Cult in itself, didn't strike me as something to just breeze over.

          "It must have been big," Alex added, "dad said they were all made Generals for it."
A high honour. "But this Leopold turned it down."
"He might know something. What would you think of finding him?"
I wasn't sure. I chewed on the inside of my cheek. If the Order was aware of the first attempt at the ritual, they ideally should be informed if there was a second attempt to be made. "I don't know," I confessed. "The Order should be told."
"And go all the way to Oblivion's Watch? By the time we got there, the ritual could have been completed and then we're screwed. We don't know who's involved, where it is or when it'll take place."
"If we do something reckless without the blessing of the code—"
"We'll be rewarded for doing what's right rather than what's easy. You said this ritual runs on bloodlines, didn't you? If that's right, then Leopold Hopkins is needed for them to succeed, but if we get there first we can prevent the ritual from occurring entirely. Not to mention, he can give us crucial information our dads apparently neglected to tell us."

          He had a point. The Order wouldn't like us reacting so quickly, but they would approve if it got the job done.
"Have a look in the journals for an address," I said.

          We found one eventually. Leopold Hopkins once joined Alex's father on a hunt close to his home near London before the ritual. It was a loose lead and a tedious journey down there, but it was all we had.
"Good work," I said. "Thanks for all your help, but I should get going."
"You should?" He stepped back to block the doorway with a frown.
"Yes," I replied. "I should."
He snorted. "You're going to London alone to track down this Leopold?"
"I'm not a child, Alex. I know how to cope by myself."
"I didn't say that! I just think it would be best if we visited him together. We're both looking for our dads and this is the best lead we have."
I sighed. "I don't know you. For all I know, you could be working with the cult and I can't have you putting my family, and myself, in danger."
He laughed bitterly. "Brilliant. You'd put your family in more danger because you don't want my help."
"It's not that I don't want your help. It's that I can't trust that you will help."
"I want to find my dad, too. And if this is the ritual the witches want to carry out, we're all in trouble; hunters, humans, wolves and even witches. I don't know what a Witch-Queen is but I don't think I want to find out."

          I rubbed my temples. Every instinct told me to say no but a subtle tug at the back of my head warned me that the consequences would be grave if I did not use every asset I was offered.
"Pack your things," I grumbled. "I'll wait out here."
He beamed. "We're going to be the best of friends, Lupine." He clapped my shoulder as he walked passed. "Just you wait."

And they're off to London! What does everyone make of Alex so far? Do you believe him as trustworthy as he makes himself out to be?

Thanks again for reading and don't forget to vote if you enjoyed it.

- Caitlin xx