Dark Night of the Soul: Tales of Blackwater, Texas Volume 2

By VG Wedgeworth

Dark Night of the Soul is the second book in the Tales of Blackwater, Texas series, and the follow up to book one Night of the Wolf. On Halloween in the piney woods of East Texas, most folks are thinking of football and trick or treat, but Chief BC Carnot, of Blackwater knows it is so much more, for nothing is as it seems -- certainly not in the sleepy town -- where the chief's friends all begin to see the angry spirits of this Texas town rise again. If it was not enough to deal with his new nature as a lone werewolf, BC has a dysfunctional shaman cousin, a spooked best friend and a complicated love life spinning out of control while every manner of ghost, ghoul, phantom and fiend is climbing up out of his or her grave to reckon some old score. All truths will be laid bare, and everyone’s faith tested, and some will be laid low on this magical night. The day approaches. Dia de Los Muertos -- Day of the Dead? You bet, for the dead may just outnumber the living, if the boys of the Blackwater PD don't wrangle some souls.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9780615949123

Book preview

Glossary

Chapter 1 Hoedown

Under the October stars, an elf owl shrieked and flapped its wings as it sat on a crushed, ‘57 Chevy pickup. Blackbeard frowned at the bird and turned slowly his head and watched the owl following his movements. He did not like the bird peering down at him with yellow eyes. Blackbeard wrinkled his wide freckled nose at the final resting place of an assortment of cars, heaped up and rusting. Flipping back his dreadlocks, he snarled at the salvage yard and looked down at his fat, bowlegged, partner, Shorty, and a staggering Jesse Potter. Blackbeard noticed that his expensive trainers were caked with muck. He felt the hot wind like a breath on his neck and wiggled his big shoulders. I hate the damn boonies, nothing but dumb crackers and mud, Blackbeard muttered.

Hey now, Shorty complained, turning his pale, round face to Blackbeard.

Didn’t mean you, Man, Blackbeard huffed out, but when Shorty turned his back, Blackbeard rolled his eyes.

Blackbeard glanced back to the lights of Potter Town Salvage Yard and Garage, and looked up to the black hills around Caddo Bayou and shook his head. Keep walking. He shoved his Desert Eagle into Jesse’s back, and smiled when he heard Jesse grunt, and Blackbeard huffed as he tromped beside the other two. He grimaced because he was a bit out of shape. It had been more than a few years since he played high school fullback, and he had grown thick around the middle. That didn’t hurt him much in his chosen profession as a strong arm, he thought. At the south end of the yard, he moved in and around cars and trucks where broken glass gleamed in the moonlight. He heard the eerie squeaks of rusty metal doors and the chiming of a dangling bumper hanging off the end of a wreck.

Blackbeard snarled at the noises and wiggled his broad shoulders, annoyed by the feeling the place gave him. He narrowed his eyes and gave Jesse a shove. Jesse Potter moaned and staggered along, feeling the lump on his head. Blackbeard looked down on the smarmy Potter brother and smirked. Potter was tall, lean, rangy, and quick – the kind of long-haired, country boy, and son of a bitch, women mooned over. He cocked an eyebrow impressed at how much of a beating it took to get the grease monkey under their control. Blackbeard tilted his head hearing his own neck pop like fireworks. How a scrawny White boy like Jesse had managed to shove him around into that shelf back at the house, he still didn’t know. Potter was maybe six feet, and what, maybe a hundred and seventy five. No, it shouldn’t have been possible, but a good rap to Potter’s noggin had shut that shit down.

Shorty waved a forty-five caliber revolver, an old fashioned looking thing, in one hand and a shovel in the other. Where are we a going?

As we was driving up, I seen Potter with a flashlight, coming out of the woods around here. Blackbeard yanked Jesse along with him. I want to know what he was doing out there.

Ah, come on, Man. Why couldn’t we just get rid of him back there at the house? No more witness and Tucker pays just the same, Shorty complained quietly to him.

Blackbeard, shook his head with his dreadlocks bouncing and grunted at his squatty partner’s lack of imagination. They wandered around a crushed Volkswagen Beetle and along the chain link fence. Blackbeard ran his eyes along the tree line that was not too far from them.

What you saying? Jesse asked through gritted teeth and almost tripped. Huh? He squawked as he righted himself. Blackbeard sighed heavily and pistol whipped the lanky cowboy. Blackbeard smiled when Shorty flinched at the sounds of the smacks. Jesse sagged in Blackbeard’s grip which forced Shorty to holster his weapon and help drag him.

Great, Shorty, that’s just great. You is getting him all worked up. Keep it down will you? See what you made me do, Blackbeard snapped. At the hole in the fence, Blackbeard squeezed Jesse’s pale arm in his big hand, and shoved Jesse through the rattling hole and followed him.

Ah, I just wanted to get back home and out of these damn woods. The little fat cowboy grumbled, and bent rattling his way through the break in the chain link. Blackbeard tried to ignore his partner and stood facing the tangle of thin pine trees and gnarled brambles. With chirps and hoots, the wild night life chorused concerns at the intruders as they moved into the bayou that ticked with life all around them, and Blackbeard frowned and glared at the woods unable to see all the little noise makers. He shoved Potter, who was grunting, ahead of him.

Blackbeard leaned to his partner and muttered, Maybe we kill two birds with one stone, and take care of Potter here and get us a load of weed. Shorty snickered, seeming to like the plan and nodded. Blackbeard used Jesse like a battering ram pushing him forward to take the brunt of the slapping branches and any pitfalls before him. It might just be that shipment of our weed is still around here some...

Blackbeard’s words faded as they pushed out into a clearing. He paused and took in a ghost town under the full moon. The collection of cabins, the wood silver with age, and an odd assortment of out-buildings that were falling to near nothing stood surrounded by the midnight swamp. For a moment, Blackbeard felt like he had stepped into a scene from some video game about zombies. He held his breath. Blackbeard paused, his head swiveling, as he surveyed the strange silent village and split rail fences. He ruminated on the town that was devoured by tall grass and the cabins which were strangled by vines. Breathing again, Blackbeard realized that his own breath seemed magnified in his ears when he looked out over the town. What the hell is this?

Maybe he got some of that weed in one of these cabins, Shorty whispered. You know, all packaged up.

Maybe. Blackbeard glanced back at the way they came. It did not make sense to do a job hauling weed out here with no easy access to a road. Blackbeard gripped tightly the weapon in his hand while he motioned for Shorty to move up alongside of a building and take a look. Shorty gave him a thumbs-up. The squatty cowboy hunkered down and toddled around from building to building peeping in open doors and through broken windows while Blackbeard waited with Jesse who reeled in pain and threw up. He frowned at the stink as Potter repeatedly spit on the ground. Damn it, Blackbeard muttered.

As his fat sacrificial lamb, Shorty, stuck his nose in each cabin, Blackbeard scanned and strained to hear any response to Shorty’s poking around. He did not like the black eyes of the cabins staring at him as if just beyond the window someone was standing and watching.

Shorty hustled back to Blackbeard. I didn’t see nothing.

That don’t mean they don’t have some barn or shed around...

A whining sound like a cat being strangled, shrieked and echoed off the buildings interrupting Blackbeard’s thoughts. He froze wondering on it, for he recognized the sound of a bow drawing across a fiddle. He spun in a circle growling. Blackbeard paused and narrowed his eyes watching Potter lift his head and turn his face to also follow the sound.

You hear that? Half crouched, Shorty pulled his revolver that flashed in the moonlight, and aimed it at the different buildings.

The fiddle in the dark sawed back and forth, issuing the demonic cords of music. Blackbeard snarled; he did not care for country music to begin with, and this evil little jig pissed him off. What the hell?

He looked down at Jesse to see the lanky prisoner softly puff out a laugh and a half grin formed on Jesse’s face. Blackbeard pulled back his massive fist and hit Potter a crushing blow that sent Jesse down to the ground. The music echoed and died away.

You think this is funny, White Boy. Huh? You got a partner out here? Some of your red-neck, inbred buddies? You think you going to hide something from me? Get up! He reached down and yanked on Jesse’s arm. Jesse wobbled up onto his feet, panting and looking ill. Crazy son of a bitch.

Blackbeard scanned the area, and his eyes caught a flicker of movement in the bushes up ahead of them. He wrinkled his nose trying to tell if it was fireflies or flashlights. Keep moving, that a way. Blackbeard grunted and tugged hard on the prisoner.

No, no, no, muttered a weaving Jesse.

Oh he don’t want us to go that way, Shorty snickered.

Go on, Blackbeard sighed when his victim almost collapsed forcing Shorty to holster his weapon and twist Jesse’s arms to keep him up and walking through the low fog, deeper into Caddo Bayou. Blackbeard grumbled as his new cross trainers got wet inside the shoes, and the sharp palmetto fronds tugged on his Tony Romo jersey. Damn swamp!

He pushed the prisoner ahead of him moving east. Blackbeard followed the lights deeper into the ancient swamp. He peered down as they stepped in some puddles here and there, and the knobby knees of the cypress trees around them poked up out of the pools of water. Blackbeard gritted his teeth, feeling like the damn place was pawing and poking him.

Facing the deep, dark of the bayou, Blackbeard frowned at the land that looked as wild and primitive as something out of a damn dinosaur movie. Moonlight filtered down through the cedar branches draped with Spanish moss. Soft light illuminated silver pools of water and the white slabs of the above ground tombs seemed to glow. Blackbeard’s eyes swept the jungle graveyard. Oh hell no, Blackbeard muttered.

Shorty’s mouth hung open, and he turned his head taking in the mossy tombs, some with broken lids. Ah, come on. That’s just damn creepy.

Blackbeard looked around at the patch of dry ground and the black candles in a circle that were knocked over and flickering under the cypress tree. He shook his head seeing some of the candles had been laid out in a triangle with words carved on them. Complex symbols in white dust were drawn on the ground. He stared down at one of the drawings of a strange and fancy cross. Shaking his head, he thought he had seen that before somewhere, and it gave him a creeping sensation over his skin.

Blackbeard’s tubby partner bent at the waist and scooped some candy out of a bowl on the ground and popped them in his mouth. He shrugged at the strangeness of it all. Blackbeard pushed Jesse down to slap the mud. Looking up at the nearly full moon, Blackbeard stamped around inspecting the area.

What the hell were you doing out here Potter? I would understand you harvesting some pot but this? What the hell is all this? Blackbeard asked. Jesse Potter only remained on hands and knees shaking his head.

I just think it would have been easier to shoot his ass back there at the salvage yard, Shorty whined. The mud sucked at Shorty’s expensive boots, and he lifted them one at a time trying to shake the muck off him. I hate this fucking place.

Shut up Shorty. You’re wearing on my nerves with your complaining. You ain’t no professional; you know that? What with all your bitching. Blackbeard turned back to Potter. Blackbeard was shaking with anger, and he knew it was from some unnamed fear. He snarled, to crush that nonsense, and glowered at the cowboy on the ground.

Jesse nodded and wobbled up onto his hands and knees and looked at him. You shouldn’t have dragged me out here. You boys are making a mistake, Jesse said. He stared stony faced through limp, dirty blond hair up at Blackbeard. The red neck maintained his defiant attitude, and Blackbeard felt his skin prickle because he knew that was just not right.

We made a mistake? You’re kidding me right? You’re the dumb ass made a mistake pissing off Randolph Lee Tucker, Blackbeard snapped back.

Ah my boots are a mess. Can’t we just hurry this up, Shorty said.

Blackbeard glanced back in the direction of the salvage yard. He shook off the cold fingers that traced up his spine and looked to his partner. You see, you never want to do things the right way. Blackbeard gesticulated in the night air. It’s about being a professional.

Well, excuse me. I guess I missed the etiquette lessons on shooting a jack ass in the woods. Shorty put his hands on his broad hips. Blackbeard heaved a sigh and turned watching Potter who was checking his swollen lip for blood.

Blackbeard let a large smile spread over his face as he turned to Potter, trying to exude sympathy. I was kind of hoping that you had some of the stash still out here. You know if you did maybe we could still cut a deal for you with Tucker. He wants you dead to shut you up, so you don’t testify against him, but if you have some pot harvested well, might save your life.

Blackbeard frowned when Jesse did not take the bait. Potter just seemed to be muttering a prayer, and Blackbeard sneered not liking a man, so stubborn he wouldn’t even try to save his own life. Blackbeard surveyed the area wondering if Jesse had been out here with someone else doing his twisted thing. The bayou glowed eerily under the moon and in such light Blackbeard wondered what way Jesse might run. After all, that’s what he would do, so he was sure that’s what this poor bastard would try. You making me have to do this Potter, Blackbeard grumped and pointed his weapon at Potter. Help me, to help you.

Jesse stared defiantly.

I know, we just stick his body in one of these. Shorty moved towards one of the mossy blackened tombs. Bracing his feet the squat man shoved with all his might, but the black moss kept it sealed up but good. Shorty waddled around to the other one. He grunted shoving and then leaned against it panting. Blackbeard rolled his eyes, and Shorty paused and tipped his head. That’s funny?

What? Blackbeard shook his head.

Shorty looked back at Blackbeard and then to Jesse, Says Nehemiah Potter. Looks like we will put you down with your kin, kind of like fate, huh? Shorty shoved on the lid of Nehemiah’s tomb. His feet scurried on the ground trying to brace for the shoving. Shorty sputtered and then shook his head. These ain’t a budging.

Fine, Potter, you want to die? Blackbeard grabbed up the spade and threw it at Jesse’s feet. Dig.

Shorty rejoined Blackbeard and waved his forty-five and motioned for Jesse to pick the shovel up. Jesse’s shoulder tightened, and he slowly climbed up from the ground. With spittle hanging from his twisted mouth, his lean muscles rippling under his torn Slipknot t-shirt, Jesse stared them down and shook with anger.

What you think you’re doing? Punk ass, I’ll shoot you in the gut and let you die slow. Now pick up the damn shovel, Blackbeard snapped. He brought the gun up at Jesse Potter.

Fuck you. Jesse spit the words, leaning on the shovel, and suddenly appeared weak.

Look, Blackbeard said with a sigh, You can dig the grave, and take a shot to the head, quick, or I shoot you in the gut and you can die slow and painful while I dig your damn grave. Black Beard raised a finger, Or, or make it easy on both us, and tell us where you got that pot, and maybe we let you go, and you can make for the border.

Jesse stared at him a moment and shook his head and took up the shovel digging into the sloppy earth chucking the sludge at Shorty’s feet. The rolly-polly man stepped back. Right, Jesse snarled.

Walk the perimeter to see where the water comes up to, Blackbeard said.

Shorty shook his head, his jowls quivering. Uh, there’s gators in there. You do it.

You’re such a pussy, Shorty. You got a gun, Blackbeard snapped.

Shorty stared at the weapon in his hand and then toddled around the area looking into the vines and round trees. The fat man tipped his head, confused, and picked up what appeared to be a pink notebook with a skull on it. Who’s Maggie? He frowned reading the name in glitter. Blackbeard cocked an eyebrow. Shorty dropped the odd book and rummaged around in the bushes to see if there was anything else like it, but jumped rattling the bushes.

What? What you got? Blackbeard and leaned out to see.

Jesse sniggered at the jumpy short man.

Nothing, Shorty said stepping back and caressing his crew cut. Thought it might be poison ivy.

Black Beard grimaced at the raw stench of decay all around him, but the sweet smell of roots that Jesse chopped through to make the grave cut the stench of the place. A breeze rustled the hickory. The persistent cold breeze waved the flag of the swamp – Spanish moss—in the air.

Blackbeard looked back at Potter and did a double take.

Jesse brought his fist to his lips. Blackbeard squinted. No, it was a small pouch on a cord that Jesse pressed to his lips, kissing it with eyes closed.

What you got there? Blackbeard frowned and felt his anger rise at the unknown. Potter wavered and leaned against the shovel in the hole and dropped the bag on the cord around his neck back into his shirt.

You praying there Potter? Shorty chuckled as he walked back up behind Blackbeard. I don’t think Tucker’s going to hear you all the way down in Beaumont. Shorty went to laughing.

Blackbeard shook his head in frustration because something about Jesse was damn strange. He glanced back at Shorty. See again, Blackbeard said, not professional, ain’t no reason to antagonize the victim. Makes things get messy. Blackbeard looked nervously at the noisy woods; being a man who liked to think he was smart, he sought patterns, symbols and meanings in life, and this new development left him wary. Get back to work.

Jesse dug deep enough he hit water in the mushy ground of the swamp. Blackbeard watched Jesse shifting from one foot to the other as the water slowly began to fill the grave. An owl hooted, and Shorty shuffled around behind Blackbeard. Jesse stopped working and coughed and then turned his sharp clever features up at Blackbeard. Jesse’s glittering eyes made Blackbeard frown. You boys wouldn’t have a cigarette would you? Jesse Potter asked.

The two men stepped closer to the hole. Shorty shook his head, bending at the waist and examining the space. Lazy bastard. Finish your grave and quit making it’s so damn wide. It’s just going to be you in there, and I ain’t filling that back in. He made that big enough for two. Shorty snapped. Besides cigarettes are bad for your health. He straightened, kicking mud in Jesse’s face. Shorty hee-hawed at Jesse.

Blackbeard laughed a little too as Jesse blinked through the dripping goo at them and reached a hand up to wipe off the mud. Jesse froze. Blackbeard harrumphed a laugh trying to undo the knot in his gut, there was something, about the way Potter looked at him. Shorty beamed up at Blackbeard and turned back to Jesse with a nod of satisfaction.

Blackbeard frowned at Jesse Potter’s stillness, and he got it in his head he didn’t much like the look on Jesse’s face; defiance in a victim was a bad thing. Finish that grave, you goofy bastard, Blackbeard snapped. You know, Potter, you got a problem completing any job don’t you? Can’t even get your own damn grave right? Hell, all you had to do was deliver a shipment of pot, but what do you, you and that shit-for-brains brother of yours do, but let it float away with the hurricane. You can just go meet up with Frank in Hell and tell him Tuck sends his regards. Blackbeard and Shorty both laughed at the pathetic bastard as they both raised their weapons at him.

Jesse did not move; he stood very still, and then the hopelessness dropped from his face and his lips curved into a wicked smile full of bright teeth. Blackbeard cocked his head at the shift in Jesse’s demeanor. Shorty pulled up straight and puffed his chest out at Jesse and took two steps back frowning. Jesse pulled his lips back down trying to suppress something that appeared to Blackbeard to be, amusement.

What you think’s so damn funny, Dead Man? Blackbeard asked and launched his big hand down for the shovel snatching it away from Jesse. Jesse shimmied back and grinned at them. Blackbeard felt heat flush his face as rage swept over him. How about I show you how we wipe the grin off a man’s face down in Beaumont? Blackbeard swung back with one hand the shove to knock Jesse’s brains out.

The maddening chorus of the swamp stopped. The big man paused in mid swing – stopped by the nothingness, the silence – and looked at the Spanish moss that fell in the dying breeze to hang motionless. The big man tensed. All Blackbeard could hear was his own quickening breath. Oh what the... was all Blackbeard could manage. His eyes trailed around the dark world that seemed to have stopped, waiting for something. Black sky, bright stars, big moon, the world held its breath.

The sickening smack from behind Blackbeard caught his attention and spun him around. Shorty danced like an electrocuted inmate – waving arms and legs and gurgling bloody bubbles from his nose. Blood gushed up from Shorty’s severed brain where the axe head was buried. The fat man fell, and Blackbeard opened his mouth in a great O, but nothing came out because his mind pinball-tilted as his eye followed the axe handle to the rotting hands and then the bloated face of Frank Potter’s animated corpse holding the axe. A zombie had killed Shorty.

Blackbeard raised his Desert Eagle – his blubbery lips sputtering – but white boney hands of mist gripped his arms; sensual fog snaked around him – entangling him. Blackbeard felt full lips against his ear and heard the soft faint laughter of a seductive woman, but smelled the dank, moldy earth in her breath.

Come, the female spirit whispered as she slid around him pressing in on him, and embrace us. To the water, to the water’s edge, come. Bite the bullet. Join us. A child’s laughter echoed softly around him. Blackbeard gasped as the foggy hands tried to force his own weapon to his temple. Oh God, God, no!

As Blackbeard struggled against the forces gripping his wrist, the soul of Shorty stood up from the ground where his body lay with a cracked skull. Shorty’s spirit, like vapors, marched away in halting steps towards the wavering black water of the oil-slick, bayou. The ghost of Shorty did not have to slosh through the foul water but slid effortlessly sinking slowly into the water. Blackbeard shook his head. Shorty!

Blackbeard tried to struggle against the spiritual tendrils climbing up him. His huge lungs drew in airs and the smell of funeral flowers. The bayou bubbled like a cold cauldron giving off gasses, burping up glimmering balls of light. Blackbeard’s amber eyes became huge shining saucers as the white hands weaved dead fingers up through his dreads and a fete of wispy lost souls spun up dancing and cavorting from the bog, and there was the sound of laughter and shouts and some tune played on a fiddle like some damn hoedown in hell.

Blackbeard turned in halting steps back round weighed down by the dead dripping off him to see zombie Frank near his brother. Jesse Potter grinned. Welcome to Blackwater, Boys.

Chapter 2 The Man in The Mirror

BC jumped and grabbed the lower branch of the big magnolia tree in his backyard and climbed, twigs snatching at his jeans and t-shirt as he went barefoot through the branches. He leaped over and landed softly on the rooftop in the morning’s golden light and the rolling hills of East Texas. He looked back down and thought that climbing the tree as a kid had never been this easy. BC glimpsed through the tree branches other yards and through the leaves, houses. Nodding to himself, he felt sure no one could see him. He smiled and took a deep breath of the sweet air and regretted the passing night.

Closing his eyes, he felt the rays of sunlight touch him, warm him. He heard the cardinal in the tree and the barking of a dog down the way, and the people – their hearts beating all around him.

The barking of the little dachshund, Rufus, in the house somewhere snapped him out of his reflection. He winced, hearing the yapping. He opened his eyes and shook it all off, and then he ducked around some branches, and pulled up the window to his bedroom, and jumped with muddy feet onto the wooden floor. He froze hearing the little dog beyond his bedroom door continuing to yip. He gave a low growl to the little canine out in the hall, and all was quiet. Crouched like an animal and a wicked smile forming, BC slowly stood straight, and he saw himself in Nora’s full length mirror. Dirt smudged his lean cheek and square jaw. Sweat plastered his light brown hair in little spikes on his forehead. Looking at his dirty hands and feet, he spread his fingers and dry mud crumbled when he flexed his hands. He walked toward his unfamiliar reflection in the mirror and stopped, struck by the beastly man he saw there. Leaning close to the mirror and pulling down on his right cheek, he leaned to see what color his eyes were and was relieved to find that they were not mercury but just plain grey. His reflection in the mirror seemed to grin like the devil at him. At thirty two, he felt like a kid for the first time in his life and gave his reflection a chagrined look, unsure of who he saw there.

He closed his eyes thinking of the she beast rising up in the church last summer and the battle titanic, and his friends’ screams as the monster Carol Ann bit into his arm. He let the sorrow wash over him. He pictured, Carol Ann, Scooter, dangling from his grip over the precipice in the storm, her pale body bathed in moonlight as she stabbed his hand forcing him to let her go – saving him. He opened his eyes staring at the man he saw now. Who am I? He pressed his lips together.

He had never been unsure before now of who he was. He tried to remember his many roles: brother, son, soldier, husband – no widower – father, caretaker, cousin, Catholic, Republican, chief of police... His eyes snapped open in the mirror, and he swallowed frowning. BC trembled at the last – monster.

BC stood staring at himself thinking of Father Juan testing him for signs of evil – the holy water, the communion. He passed it all, though the beast gave grumbles at the power the priest exuded. Silver, well, that was real too, just touching it gave him a rash, but with regular weapons, and he healed at a damn unnatural rate. He took a breath and pulled the t-shirt over his head and examined his lean muscled chest and flipped around looking at his back in the mirror, but saw no signs of the mystical tattoos of the voodoo magic that made him into the beast. He frowned bitterly as so much was unknown. He closed his eyes.

The first full moon, he had gone out the window of the hospital and didn’t remember much of that night. Thank God for Darrel. He had covered for BC and said he took BC home. The second full moon he had Harvey and Darrel lock him in a shed out at the Carnot vineyard. When he resisted the change well enough, they had him practice the change. He grimaced at the memory of them peering into the little out building as he morphed first into the golden wolf, then into a bulky, wolf man form, and then the huge beast that banged around in the shed rattling the shaky structure. He knew he could have torn through the walls, but he retained some part of his human mind and had remained in the shed. Yeah, the cell phone video was strange to watch, and sure, the guys had been nice enough to go out and time his running, forty miles per hour in short bursts of about a thousand yards. On the dynamometer, yep, it was impressive his strength. He flexed his hands now and, but it did not tell him all he needed to know, and those who could were long gone.

Those beast people, the migrants, disappeared just like Dolge Smithee said they would. BC sighed. He could have pursued them, but they left quietly as they came. Maybe he thought he was afraid to find them. Those folks had apparently come to Blackwater for as long as old man Dolge could remember, but where they went, he did not know, and now with Dolge dead, it was just one more dead end. He shook his head at the unknown wondering when they would return again.

The change and the Travelers had frightened him enough that he had gone out to his free standing garage and had sat at his reloading station, and with Darrel’s help, they had worked to make silver ammo. They had tested out the theory, and knew if cut with something silver it burnt like a son of a bitch and took a long time to heal. It had not been exactly easy trying to make the nine millimeter silver bullets, and then calculating the propellant to compensate for the weight difference between lead and silver, just casting the damn things had been hit and miss to get the silver poured before it cooled. Darrel had done the research, and BC did most of the actual work. They had to even make a special plaster mold for the silver because it cooled too quickly. Just making the mold and getting it right took time. It took some long Saturday’s in the garage with Darrel to get it done, and mistakes were costly and time consuming. Eventually, they had just enough for eighteen rounds, and they marked the end of the magazines, so that even in the dark, they could feel the difference – one for Darrel and one for himself. He told Darrel it was for the Travelers, but in truth, when he looked in Darrel’s eyes, they both knew it was to be used against him if need be. Darrel had thought that two magazines full were plenty of ammo, but once BC had the process down, he spent his free time and some cash making up more rounds, building up a small stock pile. Somehow he worried he might need them.

Standing before the mirror now, BC sighed trying to right his mind and took one last look at himself in the mirror. It had been okay so far. He felt in control, well mostly. BC gritted his teeth, jaw muscles tightening, and stripped down dumping the clothes on the floor and padded to the bathroom. Yanking back the flowery shower curtain from the claw foot tub, he started the shower, and let it steam. He slid into the hot spray. Several months, had passed since his life was altered, since she changed him. He thought, over all, he’d handled things pretty well. He was grateful to have his cousin Darrel, fellow police officer, and Voodoo priest to talk to about the change. Hell, if he had the imagination to even begin to figure what to do about being a werewolf. In some ways, he never felt so alive. He talked more to Darrel these past few months than almost anyone in his whole life, except maybe Nora.

Nora, he missed his wife. Scrubbing his hands and feet, BC worked up a good lather with his gut twisting, and he felt some regret about last night. He loved Nora body and soul, and though she had been gone for years now he still felt like a married man. Maybe, he thought, that was why he felt so damn guilty when he thought about... He pushed his head up under the shower nozzle letting the water pound his skull, but he couldn’t push the images away from his mind, of his hands sliding around her small waist, her smooth legs wrapping around him – the feel of her beneath him, letting himself go, being as rough as he wanted to be. He felt his guts clinch. He had come so close to changing during the sex. It was dangerous and wild, and scared him. What if he had hurt her? He brought his hands up rubbing his face. Damn it. All he could think of was what Miss Ella would say if she knew what he’d been up to last night – or Beth.

***

Staring at himself in the mirror, BC nodded at what he saw there now; he stood dressed in the dark uniform and black shiny jump boots. He smoothed the uniform blouse – no vest, maybe he did not need it. He turned and threw open the bedroom door and looked down to find his little daughter standing there looking up at him through her honey brown bangs wearing her little plaid skirt and white shirt, all ready for school. His face squirmed as he tried to avoid her intense stare at him, that and, her slight halo that glimmered around her head was off putting. He had never seen that until after his first change, now he saw many once hidden things. He didn’t say anything as Beth narrowed her eyes at him, and the damn wiener dog snarled. His clever remarks seemed wedged in his chest. Breakfast?

Beth stared at BC, and he shifted his weight from hip to hip.

Had Breakfast. She stated flatly.

Yeah, right, okay, get your stuff. I know, I’m running late, uh sorry.

She squinted at him as he was not quite right, and he winced so hard one of his eyes closed. She nodded and turned back to the guest room. The dog paused still staring up with bug eyes and softly growled at BC. He stared down at the dog. The dog stared at him, and then BC flashed his teeth, his canines extending, and the little dog froze, tucked tailed and scrambled on the wooden floor with a yip for Beth’s room. BC gave a snort and smirked.

He started to leave but couldn’t walk out with the clothes on the bedroom floor. He stowed them in the hamper and stacked the books about wolves by his nightstand. Checking that the room was in order, he nodded to himself, but then frowned as he thought of the look Beth gave him. Shit, he murmured and wondered if somehow Beth knew he was out last night. She was in the room across from his up here. Well, it was not like he left her alone; Dad was staying in Beth’s room downstairs.

He came out of his bedroom shutting the door, and paused. Beth sang softly in the guest room. He smiled but realized he did not understand the little nursery rhyme she sang. He stepped to the door of Beth’s room and pushed it open just a bit. It was strange how she was just like Blackwater, a mystery.

A little girl that witnessed murders and monsters, and then there was the glow around her. Darrel said she was holy somehow, special. He frowned and wondered why that did not comfort him. The little one stood holding the small, blond-haired doll and sang:

Et la blanche colombe qui chante jour et nuit,

Et la blanche colombe qui chante jour et nuit,

Qui chante pour les filles qui n’ont pas de mari.

BC cocked and eyebrow and glanced around the guest room his skin prickling at the cold. He wrinkled his nose at a sweet scent both familiar and disturbing.

Et la blanche colombe qui chante jour et nuit,

Qui chante pour les filles qui n’ont pas de mari,

Qui chante pour les filles qui n’ont pas de mari,

Pour moi, ne chante guère car j’en ai un joli.

BC’s lips snarled at the strangeness, and his lips parted to ask Beth about her song, but he caught the scent of coffee. Hurry up Beth we got to go.

BC followed the smell of coffee down the stairs to the back hall and washroom. Shaking his head at Beth’s behavior, he turned and hit the swinging kitchen door but pulled up short in the bright yellow kitchen with a blink at the sight of his hobbled father without his crutches in a clinch with Miss Ella at the sink. Their white and black arms entwined around each other, kissing. Holy shit! Dad!

His father hopped stiffly around grabbing for one of his crutches not an easy task for a big man.

Oh, the language! Miss Ella said and stepped away smoothing her pretty flowered dress over her ample bosoms, and BC saw what he thought was a blush spread over her fine mocha smooth cheeks. Mouth hanging open, BC moved away from them round the little kitchen table staring.

Ah hell son, you like to scare the crap out of... Marvin Carnot was red in the face and limped towards BC.

I’ve got to get to the store. Ella headed for the backdoor grabbing her purse off the counter.

Ella Louise... Dad stammered. He wobbled around on one crutch, but she hit the back screen door and was gone.

BC backed up at the sight of his dad’s red face and stumbled back through the kitchen door leading to the dining room. BC spun and hurried through the parlor to the front foyer where Beth stood with her two little dolls and her Cute Kitty backpack staring at him.