Twisted

Chapter 3: Revealed

His hands crunched into the dirt; dead leaves and twigs crumbled between his fingers as he heaved into the soil.

“Shite, shite!” Harry panted, not bothering to care where he had apparated. Why were there Dementors in St. Louis? It couldn’t be coincidence that they just happened to show up in the bar that he was in—the Ministry had to have sent them; they were looking for him. No, they had found him.

The raw panic surged through his chest and he felt his beast stir. It sat up in his beneath his ribs, tense, smelling the danger in the air.

He couldn’t let them take him back. Memories pounded through his brain—white walls, the restraints, and the vile potions that burned his throat even now. As his heart raced, and the adrenaline pumped, Harry convulsed, the change gripping him. His wolf wasn’t sure where the danger was, but it knew it could fight better, would survive better, than the crumbling mind harnessing it.

Harry’s screams carried through the trees as his beast ripped him apart.

…………………………………

It was almost two in the morning before I walked into Dead Dave’s. I was over forty-five minutes later than what I told Luther, but he was still there, nursing a bottle in a back, shadowy corner. I didn’t ever recall seeing him anywhere but behind the bar. I slid into the cracked leather seat across from him.

I had made a quick check of the bar, but nothing seemed to be broken, and there were no police lines or dead bodies. I wondered if there was more than one “freaky magic” handler in town. God, I hoped not.

“All right, Luther, what happened?” I asked, eyeing the way he clutched his ashtray—like a teddy bear. Of course, that wasn’t unusual.

“That’s the thing. I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head.

“You can’t remember?”

“No, I remember just fine.” His tone was irritated and I tried to look nothing but polite. “I just don’t understand it.”

“Well, why don’t you describe who you saw?”

“Kid,” Luther bit out. “Didn’t look more than fourteen, claimed he was eighteen…outta school an’ all. That’s what he told me.”

A kid. Great. Sounded familiar.

“Did he attack you?”

“No, yes—I don’t know. Something happened here, Anita. It was cold, so cold, like I’d never be warm again. Like I’d never be happy again,” I watched as his cigarette dipped with each word. If a man as dark as Luther could look pale, he did. Or maybe it was just the light. “Made me remember…”

“Maybe he was feeding off of your misery?” I knew some vampires could do that, like Jean-Claude and I fed the ardeur. There was no way the kid could be a vampire, though. There was no such thing as a vampire/lycanthrope hybrid. Not unless you counted the Mother. I shivered. I did not even want to think about that.

But he wasn’t dead. My necromancy had no affinity with him; his magic was too…alive. I could remember the feeling of it in my head, like electricity that burned over my skin.

I realized Luther had said something to me. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I said, I don’t think that was him. Looked like he was being attacked too, and he pulled out this stick thing and some silver shit came out. He mumbled words…like a magician, or somethin’. Then it just went away.”

“So what…he saved you?” Maybe we weren’t talking about the same somebody after all.

Luther shrugged massive shoulders and lit another cigarette.

“What did he look like, can you describe him better?” I asked, leaning forward. Although, I supposed that if he was powerful enough he could have used glamour or something.

“He was kinda small, skinny. Black hair and big eyes. Pretty boy, but he looked…dirty,” Luther shrugged again and I closed my eyes. “He paid for the burger, though,” the big man mused a few minutes later.

The description sounded the same, but why attack people one night and save some the next? It didn’t make sense. Good thing I was used to nothing making sense.

“Did he say anything else to you?” –like, my name’s John Doe and I can be found and interrogated at this address. Oh, and by the way, these are my weaknesses…I wish.

“He just vanished, like with some vamp-mind-trick or something…but he wasn’t a leech. He ate that meat right in front of me, but it was practically bleedin’ on the plate.”

That didn’t really surprise me. A lot of lycanthropes liked their dishes rare…or moving.

I nodded and made a move to get up, but Luther grabbed my wrist. I twitched, ready to go for my gun, before I stopped the movement and looked down at him patiently; he was spooked, hell, I knew I was, too.

“He walked here, I think.”

I could tell what he was thinking, that the kid must live somewhere around the District. I nodded again, not sure if the theory was correct. Not if the kid could appear and disappear at will.

“I understand. Thanks for the info,” I got ready to leave, but he called out.

“Anita,” I glanced back at him. A smile tilted the corner of his thick lips. “Hope you know that wasn’t free.”

“I do believe it was you who called me,” I said, but slapped a twenty on the table anyway. Luther was a good source and I didn’t want him to be hesitant about calling me in the future.

~Jean-Claude.~ I called through the marks, as I stepped away.

~Has something happened, ma petite?~

~Our visitor made another appearance today. I’m leaving Dead Dave’s now.~

~Has he made a mess?~ I thought that it was an odd way to put it and I didn’t like how unconcerned Jean-Claude sounded.

~There was some sort of attack while he was here. Apparently, he spit out some more magic…do you know something?~

~Come to the Circus, ma petite. There is someone that you should meet. You have not fed tonight, Anita.~ I could tell Jean-Claude was miffed because he called me “Anita”. He had the “I’m not happy with you” tone, too. I shook my head as I headed toward my Jeep. Was I the only one who thought it was strange that my boyfriend wanted me to sleep with other men?

~I suppose I’ll have to burden you tonight.~

~Oh, indeed, ma petite.~ I felt his voice purr through my body, touching places that no hand could ever reach. Damn, that should be illegal. He chuckled through the marks. ~It is such a burden. I await you, ma amor.~

The marks closed as I slid into my seat, heat already building up inside of me as the ardeur rose. I pushed it back down carefully. See, my control was getting better. I was just glad there weren’t any random males passing by at the moment.

I clicked the door-lock button before I could think of any more unhelpful ideas.

……………………………

--At the wizard prison, Azkaban—

Draco stared at the wall. He vaguely remembered being in a cell with a window at one time…it had been…just…there…

He blinked when a rat scuttled across his feet. His hand lashed out and caught the squirming animal. It sunk its disgusting yellow teeth into his palm, but Draco ignored it before bashing it over and over on the stones. When it hung limp in his hand, he didn’t hesitate. He sunk his teeth into its belly, disregarding fur and bone—all of it went into his empty, aching stomach.

As he gnawed on his first meal in days, Draco grew angry. What would his father say if he could see him now? Probably something like “Malfoys do not eat raw rat, spit it out right now.”

Draco shook his head, before flinging the bloody husk away, his stomach roiling. He forced himself not to vomit. Who knew when he would be fed again?

Cold seeped into him and the anger died away, quicker than it had come. A whimper escaped him when he heard the horrible rattling breaths. The chink of keys made him tremble, and he jumped as metal clanged when his cell door banged open.

A man stepped in, closely accompanied by two Dementors.

“No, no…I—not, please,” Draco stammered.

“Do shut up,” the man spat. “You’re not going to receive the Kiss. You might even get a reward, depending on how you answer my questions, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco stopped pleading immediately, eyes narrowed in calculation.

“What sort of questions would those be?” he drawled, once again the young Lord of Malfoy Manor.

The man smiled, though it never quite reached his cold blue eyes.

“How do you feel about Harry Potter?”

……………………………..

It was Bobby-Lee and Claudia who escorted me down to where Jean-Claude waited in one of the various eloquently decorated parlors that never seemed to be in short supply. The Master of the City was lounging seductively on the sofa, his black shirt rippling oh-so-sexily down his chest to disappear into smooth charcoal pants. They followed every contour of his thighs to meet with equally tight fitting velvet boots that made me want to run my hands all over them.

Damn.

I just didn’t feel quite up to snuff in my black suit, rumpled and smeared in grave dirt from work.

“Ah, ma petite, we were waiting for you.” His words rubbed inside of me like warm fur. That trick never got old. His smile made a part of me melt around the general region of my spleen.

“I would like to introduce you to Monsieur Blackwell, a wizard from England,” Jean-Claude said lifting his hand to indicate the man standing nervously by the fireplace.

It took a lot more willpower than was pretty to tear my gaze away from Jean-Claude. I could feel his amusement through the marks. I bet the bastard was posing like that on purpose. The anger helped me keep a leash on the ardeur, but I couldn’t put it away anymore.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Blackwell,” I said, not offering my hand. I just didn’t trust myself that much. He didn’t seem to mind. The small man stayed hunched in on himself, his balding head reflecting the flickering of the flames. He had a green wool sweater that just said “Grandpa” to me. That told you about how far gone I was, that I was scared of molesting Mr. Rogers.

Wait—had he just said wizard? Like Mickey-Mouse wizard?

He didn’t look like anything out of the ordinary.

“Ma petite, I have explained the situation to Monsieur Blackwell, but I am certain that you will be able to describe it in more detail. It will be better, as they say, straight from the horse’s mouth,” I gave him a glare for comparing me to a horse, before giving my full attention to the “wizard”.

The man blinked large, watery gray eyes. “Ah, yes. Ms. Blake. Could you describe what you saw? What were the effects of the magic? Did he say anything?”

He surprised me, turning from a meek mouse into an inquisitive librarian before my eyes.

“At first I thought he was just a regular lycanthrope,” I said, testing his reaction.

“Ahem, I see, a werewolf,” there was obvious disdain in his voice, but he motioned for me to continue. I wanted slap his little unjustified prejudiced right out of his overlarge, hairy ear. But I ignored the impulse and continued on. Brownie points for me.

“But he took something out of my hand, it zoomed right to him,” I said.

“Did he say anything?” Blackwell asked.

“No.”

“Hmm, do you mind if I demonstrate something, Ms. Blake,” he asked, his tone curiously stiff. I had the feeling that he felt degraded having to ask me.

“No,” I said, a little irritation leaking out into the word.

Blackwell pulled a thin stick from his sleeve and held between his pointer and thumb. He aimed it at one of the cushions at Jean-Claude’s feet.

“Accio cushion!” he said, with a flick of the stick.

The cushion whipped off of the couch and into Blackwell’s waiting arms. It surprised me to see the same kind of magic so soon. I hadn’t known it existed, since I was used to the Wiccans and Followers of the Way. “Was it similar to that, Ms. Blake?”

How could someone say something so polite, and still sound like he was insulting you in the same breath?

“Similar, but not quite the same,” I said and he raised the brow.

“Of course, he did not say the incantation. Some of the more powerful wizards are capable, did he do any other magic?” he interrupted, not letting me continue. Jean-Claude could probably feel my agitation through the marks, but he didn’t say anything. I ground down my pride.

“He melted my gun,” I forced out, not offering any more.

“Hmmm, well yes, like this?” he said as he picked up the poker by the fire. “Incendio!”

Fire poured out of his wand tip and fell on the poker, but it was some time before it began to glow red.

I shook my head. “No, it began to melt almost instantly, and I never saw flames until the end.”

“How interesting,” he looked at me as if I had just said something ignorant. I fought down the rage that was uncurling in my chest. It felt an awful lot like a giant cat.

“He also knocked out two men instantly.”

“Was there any sort of light?” Blackwell asked, rolling the stick between his fingers idly.

I thought back, trying to remember. I had been kind of distracted by my melting gun. “There may have been a red flash.”

“A stunning spell, for the sake of manners, I will not demonstrate that one,” he gave a wheezing chuckle that reminded me of nails on a chalkboard. “Is that all, Ms. Blake?”

I nodded once, clenching my jaws. But I glanced at the stick in his hand. I had to suppose—dare I say it, that what he held was a wand. “How come you use one of those?” I asked, just knowing that I would regret it.

Blackwell did not disappoint. He chuckled again as if I had just said something monumentally stupid. “All wizards use a wand. The core is what allows us to channel our magic.”

I narrowed my eyes and tilted my chin up. “Hmmm…well, our wizard didn’t.”

The patronizing smile disappeared off of Blackwell’s pasty face. “Certainly you are mistaken, Ms. Blake, for someone to perform…”

His eyes fell behind me, to where Jean-Claude was lounging. I don’t know what sort of face the vampire was wearing, but it succeeded making the already pale man go a few shades whiter.

“Are you absolutely certain that he had no wand on him?” his watery eyes were wide, and his expression was almost…desperate.

“Absolutely,” I said, clearly.

Blackwell faltered for a moment, and clutched at the mantelpiece to support himself. He held a hand up to his chest as if it pained him. “C-could you describe your assailant, Ms. Blake?”

“He was small, very pale, with black hair and green eyes. He was young, a teenager,” I said, watching as Blackwell began to list sidewise, every bit of color draining from his face. His hand clutched at his forearm.

“Mr. Blackwell?” I asked, taking a step forward despite myself. Well, it wouldn’t do anyone any good if he fell into the flames. He looked perilously close to passing out.

“Was there a scar?” he wheezed.

“What?”

“A scar, Ms. Blake, a scar!” he demanded, his eyes shifting wildly from side to side.

“No—“

“It doesn’t matter, there is only one who…and he’s here. Oh, Merlin, I knew he had escaped, but—“

“Monsieur, please do not excite yourself,” Jean-Claude said, suddenly beside me. “Explain, do you know who attacked ma petite last night?”

Blackwell shook his head. “Attacked? He didn’t attack you, believe me, you’d know it. You’d be dead.” All of his high-society manners were gone, leaving a panicked man behind.

“I’ve got to leave before he finds me—there’ll be nothing left!”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I stepped over and slapped him. “Mr. Blackwell, please stop panicking. Who is he and why are you so afraid?”

The trembling man pressed a palm against his cheek and looked up at me with hate in his eyes. “How dare you touch me, you disgusting Muggle!”

I felt power flare up behind me from Jean-Claude. Blackwell backed away, but didn’t back down.

“You want to know? It won’t help you. He’s crazy. He escaped from the prison ward at St. Mungo’s. They say after he killed the Dark Lord, he snapped. Left only pieces of the Death Eaters,” he shook his head, almost to the wall. Where did he think he was going? There was no exit over there. But more importantly—

“His name. Give us his name,” I growled. Tired of him and his stupid games.

Blackwell smiled, revealing crooked, yellowed teeth. “It won’t save you. But if you must know what to call your murderer…that would be Harry Potter.”

He cracked that smile as I felt a cold chill seeping through the marks. I didn’t have to look at Blackwell’s suddenly frozen face to know that Jean-Claude was in full-vamp mode behind me.

“There’s nothing you can do,” the man finally said, looking straight at me before he vanished with the sound of a car’s backfire.

When he was gone, I felt the power lag, and Jean-Claude’s arms wrapped around me, as if, at that moment, I was his teddy bear.

~What’s going on?~ Richard demanded through the marks. He must have felt Jean-Claude’s amp up.

~We just found out about our visitor. Apparently he’s of the really nasty variety. ~ I hoped my mind voice didn’t sound as tired as I felt. For once, I just wanted some of the Big Bads to leave me alone.

~I’m coming over.~

~No, it’s all right. We can discuss it at the lupanar tomorrow. It sounds like if he were really picking a fight with us, we’d already be dead.~

~Ma petite is correct, but I do not think we should ignore this matter. He is a werewolf, my animal to call, and relatively new, I would suspect. He may be useful to us.~

I stepped out of Jean-Claude’s embrace, surrounded by Richard’s shocked silence through the marks.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” I shouted, facing him.

“I do not joke, Anita, not about this. This Harry Potter is too powerful to ignore. It seems it would be very unwise to make him an enemy—our only other choice is to make him our ally.”

“And just how do you plan to do that?”

“Everyone has weaknesses, ma petite. Everyone.”

…………………………………….

It was nearly seven, and I was just turning onto my road, heading home from the Circus. I was exhausted from stress and…other things, but at least the ardeur was sated. For now—

“Holy shit!” I yelled, jerking the wheel so hard that I nearly landed in the ditch.

For a second, I just sat there blinking, my mind catching up to the fact that the car was stopped. “Shit!” I muttered before unbuckling my seatbelt and jumping out of the car.

There was a naked body in the road.

I rushed over, checking the pulse—good and strong—before flipping him over.

“Oh. Fuck,” those were the only words that came to mind when I sat staring down at the face of none other than Harry Potter.