The Revelation

Evening shifts were one of the worst for anyone in the Iron Oath. That was when every crazy, drunk, and drug addled person in South Florida came out to play. Law enforcement called them for petty thefts and assaults that were thought to be committed by The Others. Once an Agent arrived at the scene, the police confirmed the culprit was human and drunk, high, or furious.

Wren usually avoided the evenings because of her seniority. With a new partner, Kerri had to experience the insanity of Miami’s nightlife. Both of them straggled into the office, thinking there may as well have been bars on the dark windows. The cheery palms were nowhere to be seen, covered by shadows of the neighboring building.

The few Agents who came in at night were out on a call, leaving the two new partners alone at their desk. An uncomfortable silence was broken by the occasional tapping of keys on a laptop, or Kerri slurping her creamer with a touch of coffee. Every slurp had Wren punching at keys like she was trying to break them.

“What do we do? Wait?” Kerri asked.

“We wait. Take the time to look over some cases you can access.” Wren said.

She had her chin propped on a fist, staring blankly at the laptop screen. They were all cold cases that hadn’t been solved in years. Law enforcement sent them to the Iron Oath with suspicion that The Others may have been involved. Everything from murders to theft were pushed in a database, hoping someone may find new information.

Wren never cared for these cases. It was her opinion that half of them weren’t The Others to begin with. They were crimes best solved by a police detective, and not an Iron Oath Agent. Once in a blue moon, a familiar name came across her screen - the name of an Other she had been around in school or somewhere else. Most of those cases were missing persons, presumed dead. The bodies were never found, and most blamed Vampires or Werewolves for it. Except it was unlikely a Vampire or Werewolf went after one of their own.

One more name had been added to the list, a Werewolf Wren was in some classes with. He went missing over a year ago, and there were no clues to his whereabouts. She stared at the block letters, inhaling the earthiness of a fresh cup of herbal tea.

“Do you always drink that?” Kerri asked. “Is it a Druid thing?”

“Only Druids drink tea?” Wren raised her eyebrows.

“Don’t you all only eat plants? I figured you’d have something against coffee.” Kerri said.

Wren smirked at Kerri’s attempt to say “you all” while masking her southern drawl. It turned into a slow and nearly monotone “you… all” that didn’t fit Kerri’s bubbly voice. She must have known her partner’s thoughts, because Kerri glared at her from the other side of the desk. It amused Wren, allowing the two to have a staring contest for a moment.

“You wear contacts.” Wren said.

“So?”

Wren shrugged. “You were staring me down so hard that I could see them.”

“I can see your roots showing.” Kerri retorted.

“Yeah. I need to get them touched up.” Wren said. “Is this where we’re going to be? Throwing veiled insults and barely talking? That’s going to be a long haul for you until they promote you to full Agent.”

Kerri sunk down behind the laptop screen, half-mumbling a reply. “I didn’t sign up for the Iron Oath to work with The Others. Especially not someone who can set me on fire.”

Wren laughed. “Set you on fire? I’m not a Firestarter. I’m your run-of-the-mill Earthquake. The worst I can do is choke you with a vine.”

Kerri shifted in her seat, huffing out a sigh and touching her own neck. “You can’t use your abilities unless authorized.”

“Not on the job.” Wren smiled.

“Is that a threat, Agent Hoffman?” Kerri said.

“No, but it’s funny to watch your reaction.” Wren laughed. “Loosen up. I’ve never hurt anyone. Let alone another Agent.”

Echoing footsteps caused Kerri to close her mouth before she could let loose with a stream of obscenities. The warden walked in the office to calm both inmates before a fight broke out. Jacob stopped in front of them, still wearing a tee shirt soaked in sweat from his nightly run.

“Agents! You have a call to get to. South Beach.” Jacob barked.

Kerri bounced from her chair, slamming the laptop shut so fast that Wren and Jacob thought she may have broken it. The more seasoned Agent stood next to Jacob, ignoring the fact he needed to change his deodorant to something that actually worked. Both were like two parents watching an excited child going to do a menial task for the first time.

“What is it? Assault? Drug charges?” Wren asked.

“A body.” Jacob said. “You need to prepare Agent Fuller on the way.”

“I’m sure Agent Fuller dealt with murders when she was a cop.” Wren said.

Jacob lowered his head. “It’s an illegal hunt.”

Hearing the words made Wren’s legs turn into roots that nailed her feet to the floor. The light dancer’s steps became heavy tree trunks, trying to trudge through concrete to her car keys. Her mouth went dry and no amount of water would quench it, and the visuals of one fateful night came back in her mind until her stomach turned circles.

“An illegal hunt? Jacob, there hasn’t been an illegal hunt here since…”

“Over a decade.” Jacob said. “I know. Get over there and check it out. I want a suspect by sunrise.”

The alley way had a crowd of people at the entrance, held back by a single piece of crime scene tape. They spoke in hushed voices, craning their necks to see the grisly scene that they’d only heard about. A few unfortunate people caught a glimpse of the body. They ran away from the crowd, doubling over to lose the contents of their stomach on the sidewalk.

Three police cars were parked on the sidewalk, not bothering to care who or what they blocked. The blue and red lights flashed on the side of the buildings, illuminating the blood splattered on the old brick. It was like an artist had thrown a paint bucket in frustration, splashing the viscous fluid against the outside of the two buildings.

Kerri’s face was set in stone, pretending not to notice the unmistakable scent of blood. That metallic, sweet smell with a hint of rotted meat to it. Whoever died was left in the alley for a little while in the Florida heat, and it was already rotting away.

An officer waved to the two of them, rubbing the back of her hand over her forehead. She was a short woman with a stout build and eyes so dark that they were unnerving in the alley. Like the light couldn’t reach them, and two voids were staring at the Agents.

Her shadow spread over the cracked pavement, making Kerri feel as if something was reaching for her. Wren had worked with Danielle before, and gave the woman a smile.

“Is it what we think?” Wren asked.

“I don’t know what else to call it.” Danielle glanced at Kerri. “She’s not new, is she?”

“Agent Fuller. Officer Carlan. Yes, she’s new.” Wren said.

“Good luck.” Danielle handed both of them a box containing disposable gloves.

Wren slid them on, hating the unnatural feel of a plastic like material over her skin. It was for the best. If the scene was an illegal hunt, no one would touch it with their bare hands.

A slow and pulsing beat flooded in from a nearby nightclub. Kerri’s shoes scraped the pavement in time with the music as she approached a few police officers. Sirens in the distance indicated the paramedics were on their way, and the crowd was getting thicker by the second.

One officer walked away, tucking an arm over his stomach. A blue light flashed over his face, betraying the fact he was about to get sick. Wren’s shoe stopped in front of a coagulating stream of blood that trickled away from the body. If someone could call it a body.

Part of a torso remained attached to the neck. The head itself had mostly come away, ripped and pushed to the side so that only a portion of the mangled face could be seen. Entrails hung from the lower part, spreading out in a pool of crimson.

There were no legs attached to the body. A chunk of calf was near Kerri’s foot, and a piece of a foot had rolled near a trash can where a stray cat was sniffing at it. The cat turned its head, unable to handle the idea of such a disgusting thing before it met Wren’s eyes and walked away.

“That’s an illegal hunt.” Wren sighed.

Kerri’s mouth opened to speak, but no words came out. Just a loud gag before she clasped her hand over her stomach and ran to the other side of the alley. By then, the Paramedics had arrived and pushed past the crowd. Kerri moved one aside, so she could bend over a trash can and lose her dinner.

“Can one of you help her, please?” Wren said, trying to keep her own stomach calm.

Danielle pointed to the trash can where a single toe was pointing up from the piece of foot. “That cat. Can it talk to you?”

“No.” Wren shook her head. “It’s not domestic. I doubt the thing ever was or it would have talked to me already. Felines aren’t my affinity, so we’re out on the idea of animal help.”

Danielle sighed. “It isn’t admissible, but it might have helped us find a suspect.”

“Danielle.” Wren bent near the trash can. “Did you already take the tracks?”

“There are none.” She said.

“No Werewolf tracks? I don’t see a sign of struggle either.” Wren looked around for any evidence of a fight.

An illegal hunt is when a Werewolf doesn’t go to a Hunting Sanctuary on the full moon. These sanctuaries are fortresses created for the Werewolf population to safely hunt. Every city in the civilized world has at least one. Most Werewolves are thankful for them, and happily go every full moon.

Once in a while, a Werewolf doesn’t go to the Sanctuary. They hunt in a city, and the poor person or animal that comes under their gaze is doomed. Every illegal hunt comes with plenty of evidence a Werewolf had been there. Shifted Werewolves track their prey before pouncing on them, and the prey always struggles against it - usually fighting for their life. Yet, there was nothing to show a Werewolf had been near the alley.

“We’re in South Beach and no one saw a Werewolf.” Wren said. “That makes little sense to me.”

“I don’t understand either.” Said Danielle. “What do you think?”

Danielle was a human, but friendly to The Others. Having Wren come in to help with cases was a boon to her. She felt The Others could help solve a lot of crimes if allowed to use their unique abilities. Even though Wren could not use any abilities on the record, she had often come in to help Danielle on a case or two.

Markers were set down around the body, showing pieces that had flown off or where the blood pooled. Blood splatter was marked along with a tattered bit of clothing that may have belonged to the victim. Not one marked a single track, piece of fur, or broken tooth.

Kerri returned to the scene, wiping her mouth with a napkin and wearing a fresh pair of gloves. She glanced at a cup of coffee sitting on the top of a trash can and gagged when the scent of coffee and garbage mixed with the old meat smell that was permeating through the alley.

“Don’t get sick again.” Wren said. “Get some fresh air or put on a mask. I think I might get one. Why don’t I get you one?”

“I’ll take one.” Danielle said.

“I’m fine.” Kerri gritted her teeth.

Wren shrugged. “It’s not time to prove yourself, Kerri. None of us are handling this well.”

“You seem to be!” Kerri said.

“It gets easier to hide it.” Wren answered, waving down a Paramedic in hopes they had some spare masks on them.

“Do you have any idea who did it?” Kerri asked.

“Every Werewolf I know of are in the Sanctuaries. There’s one here in Dade and another in Broward.” Wren said. “Here, take the mask.”

She took it with some reluctance, puffing out the light blue fabric when she sighed. “Then we need to talk to them in the morning.”

“I think that’s a great idea.” Wren said. “I know just where we’ll go.”

There was little more the Iron Oath could do on that scene. Once the police finished, the coroner would come and those poor people had to deal with cleaning the body. Eventually, the blood in the alley would be washed away by rain and who knows what else. That would be after the media swarmed the scene, talking to every idiot on the sidewalk and painting a picture of a villainous Werewolf.

Once a victim was identified, the media would make sure there would be no end to the cry for blood. A suspect had to be brought in, and fast. Otherwise, every Werewolf in South Florida would pay for it.