Hunter's Legacy

“A what?” Alexander asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“A Nephilim,” Seraphine repeated, slowly.

“And that is…?” Alexander prompted.

“The offspring of an angel and a human,” I replied.

“I thought Angels were a new thing,” Natasha said, mockingly.

“When researching demons, you come across some passages regarding angels,” I shrugged, nonchalantly.

“So, you’re saying that I’m half angel?” Alexander asked, an awestruck look taking over his features.

“Wait a minute, you actually believe that?” I asked. I couldn’t help myself; Alexander was getting to me more than usual. Natasha’s earlier statements about my feelings towards him came rushing back, but I swatted them away, with vigor, and continued on, before Natasha could chastise me again, “You gave me crap about believing in demons and vampires and all the other monsters, but this one comes in, says ‘hey, you’re half an angel,’ and you readily believe it?” I took a deep breath, “I don’t need this.” With that, I grabbed my keys and my coat, before walking out of the room.

I got into my car and I drove through the small town; it didn’t take long to find the only watering hole in the place. I pulled into the small, packed, lot, and turned off my car. It was unsafe for me to be here alone, for multiple reasons, but I couldn’t take being around them. I flipped the hood of my coat over my head, zipped up the front of my coat, and got out of my car.

I pocketed my keys and made my way across the gravelly pavement to the Warthog bar.

The smell of fried food and hops assaulted my senses, as I made my way to the long, polished, wood-top bar, sliding onto a barstool.

“What can I get ya?” the bartender rasped out. He was a heavy-set man, balding on top, with a thick ring of hair circling around the back of his head.

“Whiskey. Neat,” I said. The man cocked a thick brow at me.

“You twenty-one?” he asked suspiciously.

"My friend here, Benjamin Franklin says that I am,” I replied, smoothly, passing a fifty-dollar bill over the bar top. The man’s bushy eyebrows rose, unexpectedly, as he discreetly, slid the money into his pocket. I watched as he pulled a glass from beneath the bar, and then poured two fingers of the golden liquid.

The ice cubes clinked against the sides of the glass, as it was slid in my direction. Grasping around the top of it with my fingers, I tipped my head in thanks, and took a sip. I grimaced at the burn that worked its way down my throat, before it became warmth in my stomach.

“Hello Darlin’,” a husky, Southern drawl sounded to my right. I closed my eyes, wanting to snap at whoever just decided that I wasn’t going to be alone at that moment. I took a deep breath, ready to tear into whoever dared to disturb my peace. I turned my head.

The guy sitting next to me was drop-dead gorgeous; his light brown hair was a bit longer and framed his round face. Stubble peppered his strong jawline, framing a pair of thin lips, underneath a strong, but slightly narrower, nose. He had on a cowboy hat, and a glint of mischief in his dark brown eyes.

“Hi,” I grunted, turning my head back to look straight ahead, and I continued sipping my whiskey.

“You new around here?” he asked.

I chuckled, slightly--sardonically.

“Yeah, just rollin’ through these here parts,” I mocked. Most guys would’ve been disgusted by my attitude, got up and left, but not this guy.

He must have a death wish.

“Look, I’m not in the mood for company, pal, so why don’t you just mosey on up out of here, and find yourself a nice girl?” I suggested, taking another sip of my whiskey.

“You sayin’ you’re not a nice girl?” he asked.

“There are nicer girls than me,” I said, tipping the rest of my drink into my mouth and signaling the bartender for another.

Four whiskeys and two hours later, and this guy was, somehow, making me crack up. He regaled me with stories of the small podunk town we were in--turns out that he was a townie for life--and I told him stories of the hunts I had been on. Thankfully, with a bit of acting on my part, we were able to chalk it down to me drinking too much and my overly “wild” imagination.

The smile faded from my face, and the crumpled paper with the guy’s name and number, fell from my hand as I walked back to my car, completely sobered up, at the end of the night. I slid into the driver’s seat of my car, and started it up; the green digital numbers on the dashboard’s clock showed me that it was just about midnight. I pulled out of the spot, and made my way back to the motel.

Unsurprisingly, everybody was still up, and all heads turned my way, when I opened the door.

“What up, home fries?” I quipped, walking inside and falling into one of the two chairs that surrounded the small table. There was an open bag of barbecue flavored potato chips sitting on its top; I reached out, grabbed one, and popped it into my mouth.

“Where have you been?” Natasha asked, her Russian accent becoming more pronounced with the anger that radiated from her, as she skewered me with a dark-eyed glare.

“Out,” I said, simply. Alexander shook his head, Natasha’s nostrils flared, and Saraphine looked at me, confused.

“You know it’s not safe,” Natasha ground out.

“I’m not the all-powerful Nephilim that the demons want, or the Angel that the crazy-ass human wants,” I said, pointedly.

“There is a demon that wants you, a powerful one, did you forget that?”

I was up, and in her face, quicker than she could blink.

“There never is a day that passes, in which I can God damn well forget,” I hissed, “Forgive me if, just once I’d like to forget it.”

“Seraphine, are you hungry?” Natasha asked, ignoring my statement.

“Very much so,” Seraphine nodded.

“C’mon then,” Natasha said, grabbing my keys from where I dropped them on the table.

“Hey!” I complained.

“Don’t you ‘hey’ me,” Natasha said sternly, pointing at me with a stern finger much like a mother would, when disciplining her child, “Because you left, we haven’t been able to go anywhere.”

“How’d you get the chips?” I asked. I knew it was petty, but Natasha had pinched a nerve, and now, I was in a fighting mood.

“There was a vending machine--I’m not doing this. Alexander, are you coming?” Natasha asked, looking over to where he sat on the corner of the bed.

“Can you bring me something back?” he asked, his expression stony.

“Sure thing,” she answered. She turned, with Seraphine following her, and walked out of the room.

“But that’s my car!” I shouted, just as the door closed. I made it to the window, and I pulled the curtain aside, just in time to see the tail lights of my car leave the lot. I stomped my foot in frustration, and then my eyes fell on Alexander, who was staring at me--or he was staring out the window that I was standing in front of.

“So, what’s on your mind?” I asked, as I walked back over to the chair that I had, previously, been occupying.

“How could you do that?” he asked.

“Do what?” I countered, snacking on another potato chip.

“Just go out like that,” Alexander said, his voice raising, slightly, “With no safety net, no regard for your life?”

“I went out, because I am more than capable of protecting myself, and I needed a minute,” I said. I found myself admitting the one thing that I usually didn’t: that the Hunter’s life, sometimes, got to me more than I let on. I refuse to show weakness.

“You needed a minute?” Alexander asked, disbelievingly, “I haven’t seen you take a minute in these last few months that I’ve known you.”

“Yeah, and you never will,” I responded, smartly.

“Why do you do that?” Alexander asked.

“Do what?” I countered, again.

“Make smart remarks, or jokes,” he elaborated.

“Because I can,” I stated, simply.

“You want to know what I think?” Alexander asked.

“Oh please, enlighten me, Doctor Freud,” I said sarcastically. I leaned back in the chair, and propped my feet on the table.

“I think you’re scared,” Alexander said, and I could hear the confidence in his voice as he spoke.

“No, we’re not doing this,” I said, attempting to shut this conversation down before it went any further.

“Why not?” Alexander challenged, “Are you afraid that I might actually prove you wrong?”

“No, it’s…why do I feel the need to defend myself to you?” I shook my head, taking my feet off the table, so that I was in a sitting position, able to move easier, if I needed to.

“I’m trying to let you know that I care,” Alexander replied, raising his voice just a bit.

“That’s nice for you,” I replied, sardonically, “My question is, why? Why do you care so much about me?”

“That’s what partners do, that’s what friends do,” Alexander was speaking slowly, as though he was speaking to an imbecile.

“I know this,” I seethed.

“I mean, we are bound by blood, we spend time together, but I don’t know a thing about you,” he said.

“Why would you want to?” I asked. I wasn’t really asking him, it was more of a generalized question.

“How many times do I have to say this,” Alexander pressed his fingers to his eyes and shook his head. I could tell that he was frustrated--beyond frustrated. Some part of me was angry at myself for putting him through this. The other part of me, well, she didn’t really care, “I care about you. Why is that so hard to understand?”

“It’s not hard to understand,” I replied, “I get it, I do. Do you understand that I am closing myself off for a reason?” I was standing now, pacing back and forth in front of the table.

“What reason could there possibly be?” Alexander asked, disbelievingly.

“There is no life outside of Hunting,” I started to explain, “Every person that a Hunter comes into contact with is in danger--whether it’s immediate or somewhere down the line--and we may not be able to protect them. No friends or significant others, and family is kept at arm’s length.”

“That’s insane,” Alexander responded.

“No, it’s safe,” I replied, “You still haven’t answered my question; why do you care so much about not knowing me?”

There was no answer.

If there was, it didn’t register, because the next thing I knew, Alexander’s lips were crashing on mine.

“I’m sorry if I--”

“It’s fine.”

“I didn’t--”

“It’s okay.”

An hour and a half later, I lay in the queen-sized bed that was in the room, the blanket pulled up to my chest, staring at the stucco ceiling. Alexander was inches away from me, on the other side of the bed, looking much like I did.

“What do we do now?” he asked. I wanted to chuckle, derisively. How should I know what to do? This is the first time I’d ever slept with a guy, and it just had to be my charge.

I could crawl into a hole and die.

I was about to open my mouth and respond, when the sound of a key in the door got my attention. Before I could even fathom what was happening, Natasha and Seraphine were bounding through the door.

“Camille, you have to hear this,” Natasha said, the look on her face matched the worried tone that her voice carried, as she handed over her phone. I'd never seen Natasha look so worried, in the time that I'd known her, so I knew that it had to be serious.

Despite the compromising position I was in, I clutched the sheet to my chest, and I took the phone, pressing the green ‘play’ button on Natasha’s voicemail.

“Natasha, it’s Piper. I’ve tried all of your phones, but I can’t get through to anyone. Don’t go back to The Bunker; the Witches betrayed us, and it’s gone; everybody’s dead. Eddie and I are getting out of town. I’ll get in touch when I can.”

I looked at Natasha, who still wore the look of worry on her face, Alexander’s eyes were wide.

“I assume that you two are done bumping uglies,” Natasha stated, matter-of-factly, taking back her phone and perching on the edge of the nightstand, next to the bed.

“We were not--” Alexander started.

“Oh save it, I’m a vampire with supersonic hearing. That’s why we turned right back around and left, half an hour ago,” Natasha said. I didn’t have to look at Alexander to know that his cheeks were bright red.

“Bumping uglies…” Seraphine mused.

“A term that people use to say that two people slept together,” Natasha explained.

“Slept together? They seem to be wide awake,” Seraphine gestured between Alexander and me.

“No, it’s a polite way of saying…procreation?” Natasha asked, looking my way.

“Except without the creation part,” I interjected.

“So, the two of you had…intercourse?” Seraphine asked.

“We have to go,” I said, avoiding the awkward question. Still clutching the sheet to my chest, I got up and started rummaging through my bag, one-handed.

“Go where?” Alexander asked. I looked up to see him holding the comforter around his waist.

“Back to The Bunker,” I stated.

“But didn’t Piper tell us not to go back there?” he asked.

“Yep,” I replied, grabbing some clothes and going into the bathroom. I made it quick when I got dressed, and then I walked out.

“We aren’t going to listen? As usual?” he asked, sarcastically.

“We need to go back,” I replied, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull my boots back on, “There might be something there that they missed.”

“No, you’re not thinking straight,” Alexander said, getting up and dragging the comforter with him. He looked to Natasha, “Talk some sense into her, please.”

“I’m sorry, Alexander, but I agree with her,” Natasha shrugged, “Maybe there is something there that Piper and Eddie missed, and, how do we know what the full extent of what we’re dealing with is, if we don’t take a look?”

"Thank you," I responded.

"Don't get used to it," Natasha replied.

"Wouldn't dream of it," I said.

An hour later, we were packed back up, checked out, and driving out of Tennessee. Alexander and Seraphine were in the back seat; after a little while of groaning, Alexander fell asleep. Seraphine was staring out the darkened window. Apart from the sound of rain dropping onto my windshield, the car ride was quiet.

“So, are we going to talk about it?” Natasha inquired.

“No,” I answered, simply. I knew that Seraphine had as good of hearing--if not better--than Natasha. While I hadn't seen that she was a threat, I still wasn't one-hundred percent warmed up to her.

“Camille--”

“We aren’t talking about this, because there’s nothing to talk about,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road, “There was a lapse in judgment, I did a stupid thing, and now it’s over.”

“Camille, you can’t be so hard on yourself,” Natasha said, “You’re only human.”

“But I know better,” I said. I know I said that I wasn’t going to talk about it, but the dam was cracked now, “I know the consequences of something happening if we get too close.”

“And we will deal with them if they arise. Camille, you deserve to be happy,” Natasha said.

“Nope, it doesn’t work like that,” I responded, “If I’m happy, then the world is completely out of whack.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Natasha replied, and I could tell that she was doing her best to be comforting, “You are the kind of person who doesn’t let themselves get wrapped up in something. Getting wrapped up in a relationship is no different.”

“That’s not what I’m concerned about,” I said.

“He won’t betray you. He won’t hand you off like your family members did, he won’t betray you like your brother did…Alexander is a good person,” Natasha responded.

The conversation ended there.

Before any of us knew it, we were pulling into the location of The Bunker.

I turned off the car, pushed open the door, and ran to the entrance. I stopped short, upon seeing that the heavy steel door was wide open. It was never just left open. Stopping for a second, I drew my gun, cocked it, and then moved forward. I could hear Natasha and Alexander calling out to me, telling me to stop, and telling me to wait, but I didn’t pause, as I walked through the doorway.

The first thing I saw was complete disarray; security monitors were shattered, chairs were broken, there were a couple of craters in the floor, where the tile had been busted up. I walked down the steps, jumping the last few, because they weren’t there, and started making my way to the common area.

The pungent smell of death made me stop short, as it tickled my nostrils. Wrinkling my nose, I edged forward, still keeping my gun steady, and then I walked in. Unsurprisingly, there were bodies lying everywhere in the room. Some had been burnt to a crisp, while other bodies had burnt skin sloughing off of them. This room, much like the entryway, was in complete disarray; the furniture that wasn’t splintered or broken had been reduced to ash, the smell of smoke and fire and burnt flesh still lingered.

I walked over to one of the bodies; it was a young woman. She was around my age, she had cuts and bruises on her skin, and a gaping wound in her abdomen. Her eyes were wide open, as if she had been surprised at the events that had occurred.

I shook my head. I hadn’t known her; I hadn’t known any of them. I hadn’t felt the need to, and they all shied away from me. So, why did I feel as though a part of me had been torn out of my chest?

“Oh my God,” Natasha’s voice reached my ears; I turned, and saw the three of them staring at the scene in horror.

“What happened?” Alexander asked, looking around.

“Witches,” I stated, simply, “I don’t know what they wanted, or even if they got it, all I know is that our home is destroyed.”

Alexander scratched the back of his neck, Natasha stood with her hands planted on her hips, surveying the scene, and I watched as Seraphine knelt by one of the bodies. She closed her eyes and put her hand out in front of her.

“I can’t heal them,” she said, after a second.

“Can’t heal them?” Alexander asked, looking confused.

“Angels can often heal the injured, by using their grace,” Natasha explained, “Do you not have your grace?”

“It is a possibility,” Seraphine sighed.

“Or they’ve been dead too long,” I said, “I mean, you can heal people, but not completely resurrect them, right?”

“That’s right,” Seraphine confirmed, “I can heal them and bring them back from the brink of death, but I cannot bring them back after a period of time.”

“Either way, we have to get this cleaned up and we have to disappear,” I said.

We spent the next few hours lugging all the dead bodies we could find in The Bunker. By dawn, we had lost count of how many pyres we had built, and we lit them all on fire after salting the bodies.

“Did we forget anything?” I asked. Natasha, Alexander, and I had walked down the west wing, where all the rooms were, only to find that our rooms had been among those that had been destroyed.

“Nothing I could find,” Alexander replied.

“Wait a minute, do you hear that?” Natasha asked. We quieted down for a minute, and then we heard it.

“Help, somebody help me, please!” We shared a look, before walking down the hall and rounding a corner. We came to a closed door--one of the rooms that had survived whatever had happened here--where we heard the cry for help come from behind. Natasha tried the doorknob, only to have it turn, easily. The door creaked as it opened, and we were met by Serena, who looked scared, as she stood in the middle of the room.

“Thank you,” she said, sounding grateful, “I don’t know how long I’ve been stuck in here.”

“Why didn’t you just open the door?” Alexander said, confused. Looking down, I noticed the red circle, where she was standing, the symbols etched on it.

It was a Devil’s Trap.

Serena was a demon.

I nudged Natasha and nodded to it. She nodded once, and then we both raised our guns.

“--those crazy witches trapped me here and now I can’t get out,” she was saying.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find a way--whoa, what are you doing?” Alexander’s eyes grew wide as he looked between Natasha and I, and then back to Serena, whose eyes were as wide as dinner plates, with surprise.

“Where’s Serena?” I asked, raising my voice.

“What are you talking about, she’s right here,” Alexander said.

“What have you done with her?” Natasha shouted. As if on cue, Serena’s eyes weren’t wide anymore, they flashed black and the surprised look left her face, and a derisive chuckle left her lips.

“Bravo,” she said, sarcastically, clapping her hands together in a show of slow applause, “I’m actually surprised that you didn’t figure it out beforehand.”

“Why are you here?” Natasha asked, still holding her gun in place.

“Those pesky Witch bitches executed their plan, and then locked me in here,” Serena snarled.

“What plan?” I asked, stowing my gun in its holster.

“The Witches were going to drain the magic from the bunker and…I don’t really know the rest of it, but it’s big, and it’s bad.”

“Natasha, go see if you can find rope, or cables, anything that can be used to tie her up,” I said. Natasha nodded, disappeared for a second, and returned with a handful of silver chains.

“Thanks,” I said, noting the blisters that had started to take residence on her palms, as I took them from her.

“Alexander, let it out,” I said. He nodded, took out his knife, and started scraping the paint away. When a small section of the red circle was scraped away, Serena took that as her chance to bolt. Natasha, being faster than any of us, reached out and grabbed her, holding her arms down, while Alexander and I wrapped the chains around her. Natasha hissed in pain, as her palms came into contact with Serena's shirt, the blisters seemed to be taking longer than average to heal.

“What now?” Alexander asked.

“Now, we put her in the car, and we leave,” I replied.

“The car?” Natasha asked.

“In the trunk,” I elaborated.

“Why are we taking her with us?” Alexander asked, hoisting Serena’s squirming form over his shoulder.

“The witches might try to contact her, so, if they do, we have an advantage,” I explained, “Leverage.”

“And where are we going?” Natasha asked, again.

“Anywhere but here,” I responded, as we walked out of The Bunker.

So, we stowed Serena in the trunk of the car, pulled out of the vacant lot and set off, not looking back at what we were leaving behind.