Field Notes: Despite centuries of evolution, some creatures aren’t meant for civil society; see the classification guide for additional details. You can’t help them. You can’t and shouldn’t approach them. Several creatures are genuinely the scrum of the earth. This is in contrast to the people who feel that these select species are misunderstood and require special treatment instead of exterminating them like the pests that many of them are. These “caretakers” are good at hiding in the open and go to great lengths to care for these creatures. A few are considered crazy cat ladies, but caretakers can be anyone. They are protective, and it''s unadvisable to approach them, assuming they could have anything hidden in their purse or pocket. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
I''ve seen things I wish I could unsee. You don''t go killing things, even supernatural monsters, and not have it leave a mark. I''m not bitter, outraged, or vengeful for my life’s situation. Every Foster I''ve read about has wanted an average life at one point or another, but what is normal, except for the setting on a washing machine? Why would a dragon scale simply be lying in the gutter? They weren’t something you make jewelry out of. They weren’t something that you could find at a Farmer''s market and setting out on a quest to find a dragon. No one in their right mind would do that! If a scale was here that meant the eclipse had been caused by a dragon.
The conversation ended and we made plans to follow Melanie, but Pop''s revelation hung heavy in the air. We dug into camera footage, watched news reports, and we checked everything to see if there was something that we had missed.
Were we wrong about the dark witch? I thought as I ran on a treadmill and pulled some time against a punching bag. Could the explosion have been caused by a dragon?
No one had said anything about the sky, but it wasn’t like a dragon stream of flame was common knowledge. Could one have just soared overhead and set them all on fire? I steadied my fists, firmed up my stance, and proceeded to practice envisioning past enemies that I had sparred with. I thought about the disorientation, the ghosts and the Jack-O-Lantern, and then my mind came to stir over the words of one Colonel Reginald Foster, a World War soldier who had one of the darkest journal entries I had ever read.
Dust and debris, along with smoke from the most recent wave of artillery fire, have kept us pinned for several hours. And those several hours have felt like weeks. The Germans consistently shift their ranks. Our window of opportunity to advance has shrunk to just a few seconds. I feel that my brothers have fallen. I cover my mouth as a bitter haze brings tears to my eyes and hardens the saliva on my tongue and in my throat.
There are explosive attacks in both the East and the West. This means support will slowly come if any of us are able to survive long enough to welcome it.
There were no recordings of the colonel''s voice. Like any romantic, I could fantasize about it, but when you look at the words and know that there is double the fear, stress, and anxiety of secrets that he undoubtedly didn’t dare convey, fearful that someone among his ranks might pry into his private thoughts. There is no pleasure or literary enjoyment. I pictured a frantic man scribbling down his entry while the world exploded around him. I had read it a few times, but with everything that had occurred and what we had uncovered, I found a new-found sense of dread and a nasty aftertaste as I considered his words and their meaning.
To my surprise, but with thanks to the heavens, I am still alive. Although I don’t consider my surroundings and my existence much of living. We are in mud up to our ankles, and our meager rations are bland to the taste. There has been no movement and very little noise for several hours. Leaders have sent out scouts, but they have not returned. The second wave is ready to move at a moment’s notice, but there are misgivings at the request. I have not questioned, but I can infer the tensions and fears surrounding us as we await our impending doom. Many, I dare say, linger to the point of desperation and panic. They want to return home. They want their lives back and to put this bloodshed behind them.
These nights will haunt my dreams, of that, I am sure.
I ducked and flipped sideways. I then lifted my arm and thrust my other one forward, knocking the bag, and then I advanced to catch it again before it could hit my hip or my lower back. My mental presentation created the explosions and each time I made contact, the colonel’s account sank into my chest. I hadn’t committed it to memory, but there are things that just stick out to you. I pictured the smudged ink on the side of a particular page that had immortalized a portion of his thumbprint moments before he returned a time later to regale his journal with the climax of his entry and a pivotal moment that defined the family and our task as Monster Assassins.
My regimen is weak in spirit, and I count myself among them as we have encountered an odd sight. For a time, it had simply been a comment, a mild fantasy to put a smile on the faces of our comrades. Many have assigned the story to weariness from lack of food. We have made no advance, and there have been bombings across multiple flanks, and we can practically smell the German beer from our position. They are coming, yet they prolong our torment, and despite our hellish conditions, the stories remain. Sentries monitor the field for any sign of advancement. The reports are full of the smells, smoke, and dust obscuring the obstructions that have killed our cousins and impeded our path. My men have also reported about embers and smoke and a sensation that I have found oddly placed, but I am not swayed from the notion as I have experienced it myself. We dream of home and love and long for the warmth we share with our cherished wives and children.
The warmth. Rumors, comments, and stories have spread throughout our ranks, particularly among my men. I hadn’t recognized it at first, but as of just a few short moments ago, I acknowledge the intensity of the warmth cascading over our camp. In small increments, a few minutes at a time, it appears randomly hour after hour. I have yet to see any further clues, but I am weary that there are suspicious activities. Not looming far from our makeshift barracks and trenches.
To my friends, family, descendants, and those that come later. The colonel seemed more reflective as he expressed the following entry. My eyes traced his words, a few smudges, before moving to the subsequent page. The events of the last few days have yet to be laid to rest. My men and I keep talking about the warmth. Some have even called it the warmth of romance. I understand the sentiment. But I cannot agree because warmth equated to romance does not belong to the devastation of war, even in our dreams. I have reached out to my brothers. A few have echoed similar events that have taken place in their own regiments. Ghosts create an unholy cold, but the winged beasts of legend. They are the only forces save the devil himself who could cast warmth on a host of men.
Did I come within inches of death?
Those who had read the entry before I had concluded that the colonel had recorded the closest encounter with a dragon that anyone else had ever had, even though he hadn’t fully realized it at the time. I didn’t fault the man for that, given the circumstances. There was no questioning the clues. An enveloping warmth and heavy smoke lingering long after regular mortars and explosives would have been extinguished by the natural elements.
Following the Great War, other records hinted at possible encounters with dragons, often linked to missing person cases and large-scale events like the fire that engulfed Montreal, out of all the accounts. They had one thing in common; a lingering warmth or heat that seemed unnatural to the environment and seasonal conditions. I thought about those moments before the eclipse, but both Mom and I had been in the car. By the time we moved outside, all that I could recall feeling was the cold brought about by the ghosts.
The dragon scale sent us on high alert. Over the following week, Dad attempted to contact anyone in M.A.G.E, but his contact methods were now blocked, and the agents and authorities had gone to ground. We proceeded to make plans, but we found our efforts stalled as increasingly public attention was being drawn to our area. Pop and Grandma dedicated time to folklore and preparing enforcements that would be ready to use at a moment’s notice. Meanwhile, the rest of us tried to go about our daily lives. I kept an ear out as I moved around classes and met with professors and some academic advisors to keep up my schooling. A few people gossiped about the trash, and the university published daily notices and had officials make public announcements that the local security would be working in tandem with the local police to ensure students'' safety. Some students had taken off, but I was glad that attendance hadn’t dropped to death con 1. When I wasn’t on campus, I ran simple errands taking an extra detour to pass by Melanie Black’s Street. I saw her on occasion, but I had no indication of any visitors or if she was planning to go anywhere else. Tony would drive passed, but we both came up empty.
“Maybe we need to take a different approach,” Grandma suggested after I gave a report following my third pass down Melanie’s Street. She explained a few details, and I agreed to play backup. I assumed a position two blocks away and kept a one-way bug active on Grandma’s lapel. The thing people don’t realize about their grandparents is that age does power down your body, it gives you gray hair and bouts of wisdom to share. It also can also give you a black belt in chit-chat and small talk.
When you’ve lived in the small area for thirty years, you’re bound to make friends, and why wouldn’t at least someone you knew at some point in time just happen to live right near a target’s home?
Within a few hours and into the following day, Grandma had secured visits with multiple neighbors, a few of whom she had known from PTA meetings, bingo nights, and the occasional run-in at the supermarket. I listened to their talks about chats, old TV shows, politics, and the grandkids. Grandma shared observations of Melanie’s house disguised as the weather, and she flawlessly moved into talking about the neighborhood and the Main Street attacks.
I guess we don’t need bugs and gadgets anymore. I thought, not when you have a grandma.
I sent a few checkin and kept my parents and Pop apprised of the situation.
Tammy, a dog-loving neighbor, laughed, and I heard the clatter of teacups. “I’m so glad you came around. There has been quite a ruckus with all the crazy stuff taking place.”
“I’m glad I stay home most of the time,” Grandma replied, “When I saw the news, I couldn''t believe it.”
“And it only gets stranger,” Tammy continued between sips of tea and putting something in her mouth.
“What do you mean?” Grandma pressed.
“My neighbor has been really odd,” Tammy said, though she seemed timid to share. Grandma presented some questions, the kind that you can use to come off as concerned instead of nosy.
“Fred, a guy who takes care of my yard said that he saw Mel near a law office and a copy shop. He didn’t stop to say hi, but he was surprised when she was in the bushes and banging on the windows like a mad woman.”
“That is strange,” Grandma said.
“Fred said something was going on inside the office,” Tammy added, “he couldn’t tell what, but for some reason, he heard her say you don’t have to do this! You need to be brave. You’re better than this.”
“Dad,” I said, starting a video call, “have you heard about misdemeanor theft, destruction of property, or tampering with confidential files at one of the local law offices? Or if client information at a copy shop?”
“Nothing has been reported to my knowledge,” Dad replied, “but I’ll get Tony looking into it.”
Tony did find reports and employees had been fired, but there didn’t appear to have been any lasting harm. Thanks to Grandma''s informal eyes and ears, we gained decent intel in order to track Melanie’s movements, and the closer we seemed to get, the far more elusive she became. We all took turns, and we found ourselves driving several extra minutes out of our way to reach a destination. Melanie would go through various subdivisions and stop at random houses, condos, and apartment complexes, where she would leave notes in mailboxes or tap on the windows of city buildings. After three days of mindless driving, Melanie appeared in her front step with a cat carrier in tow and always had one wherever she went.
She’s quite thorough.
With every stop, Melanie secured her front door and checked it multiple times, and then she’d swiftly descend to her walkway and move to the garage, which she’d open with tight shoulders and lips. She opened the back, stashed the carrier inside, and quickly drove away.
“She goes from warning creatures to what, kidnapping cats?” Mom asked.
“She’s doing something,” I replied, “but I’ve never been able to tell if she has a cat inside the carrier as she goes around town.”
As we neared the weekend two weeks following the Phantom Siege. Mom and I pulled into a hobby craft and supply store. Grandma had delivered cookies to some neighbors and had witnessed Melanie come and go three times, each time with the carrier and once with a plastic bag with the logo of the craft store.
” The carrier does seem to be weighted down,” Grandma observed. “Melanie looks tired, but she comes off determined.”
“I see the family with the free kittens,” Mom said in acknowledgment. We had no clue what Melanie was up to, but if it involved cats, we figured we’d track some kittens down. Thanks to social media, we knew of at least two families that had set up free kitten spaces. One sat on the corner near a pizza parlor, nestled among other restaurants that shared the parking lot with the craft store. The other family had set up shop by a bank a few streets away.
“We’re in position,” Mom said as she texted Dad an update. After a few seconds, her phone vibrated, which obviously was Dad’s reply, who, along with Tony, was down near the bank. Mom took a look at the parking lot and then turned her attention to a book she had wedged between her seat and the center console. I didn’t recognize the title, but she had been reading it off and on over the past few days, probably to take her mind off the things she kept close to her heart. I had considered trying to bring up the topic, but each time it came to mind, I found a roadblock, like schoolwork or a random book.
She’ll bring it up when she’s ready and or when it''s necessary.
That was the unspoken rule. Monster assassins, we know not to pry because we may not be ready for the ramifications of truly secret knowledge. I shifted in my seat not having brought a book or some kind of distraction. My attention danced across the parking lot, so I scooped it to take in the lay of the land.
Fall was now in full force. The trees had lost most of their leaves and several stores nearby had fall designs on their windows, but some of the larger buildings were starting to put up the first signs of winter and Christmas ads. The number of cars seemed a bit sparse between the restaurants and the stores in the area, but it was hardly 10:30 am, and reasonably, I figured it was bound to pick up at any moment.
A few minutes passed and I glanced at my watch. It was silly to do it right away and I could see the clock on the car''s dashboard. I kept my ear out, paying close attention to the traffic noises; it didn’t take long for workers to appear in the parking lot for their shifts; they were closely followed by customers ranging from parents with young kids, young couples, and multiple grandma-age people. There were people in suits and some people in gym clothes.
“Any sign of Melanie by the bank?” I asked Mom as she turned the page. She glanced at her phone.
“Nope, but many kids are playing with the cats. And there is a message from Grandma. She can confirm that Melanie is not at home.”
“Sounds good,” I replied, spinning my hair around my finger. After about twenty minutes. I slipped out and headed toward the line of stores. I didn’t plan to go into any of them, but a little movement beat sitting in a car. After a few uneventful laps, I returned and found the stakeout a bit easier to stomach. Grandma had sent a few additional updates and had confirmed Melanie was on the move.
Grandma and Pop have seen so much, yet they still have the uncanny ability to socialize and be normal people. I thought back to the sticker game and my run-in with Lauren at the mall. If my life had resembled something normal, we would have been best friends, if not sisters. We hadn’t talked much, and the one guy Melvin had been nervous, smelled up, and just plain awkward, yet it seemed nice to have a chance to talk to real people for no reason other than what would you call it? Friendship. Goodwill? I glanced down at my hair. The vibrant chestnut brown had always been one of my most striking features. What was going to happen? Would all of this make me go gray before I turn 40?
I glanced at Mom to start a conversation, only to find her turning the page, and she had a look telling me this was a good part, along with don’t you dare spoil it. After a look at the clock, my attention returned to the parking lot as a family hurried past us moving at a rushed pace toward the store''s front door. I watched them go and stiffen. When the toddler in dad''s arms waved. I couldn''t see the kid’s expression, and if it hadn''t been for the mom, I would have figured that the child was waving at me. I''m not nervous around kids. But I''m the last person you''d ever see working in a preschool.
I freed my finger and shifted in my seat when a second glance toward the Craft store’s entrance presented a tall woman with flowing hair and a long white coat coming out with one hand on a designer bag while the other was ready to wave at any and all admirers. She carried herself with respectable grace and then whipped out a pair of round sunglasses, which she smiled a pearly white smile on as she put them on, a final addition to her ensemble. I envied her boots, but my thoughts pulled back as she moved through a small group. No more than three people, a couple and a person wearing a green hoodie.
Green hoodie? I straightened up as the hoodie immediately became white. I tensed as it lengthened, and after I blinked a few times and the person slipped through the doors, my mouth went dry. I acknowledged similar features to those of the woman who had just climbed into her car, completely unaware.
I gripped the door handle and tapped Mom on the shoulder. “Mom, get on comms.”
I bounced out of the car and hurried across the parking lot. We had an unwritten rule that set the expectation that simple instructions, regardless of whom they came from, were to be followed without question. Mom was fully supportive, as I would be in reverse roles. The standing rule was to investigate under a brief time window and to report in so your backup would be aware of the threat, just in case the unknown target got the better of you. Sometimes, your eyes play tricks on you, and there can be an innocent explanation.
That rarely happened in our line of work, and my time window was shrinking fast. I only had a few minutes before I needed to explain. Letting one job go by the wayside while chasing a possible second wasn''t wise and always dangerous. At the same time, when dealing with monsters, you often don''t get conversational luxuries. Not unless you want to get your head chopped off.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“Emma, I''m here,” Mom confirmed over our small earbud. This was a situation where I couldn’t chance talking too much. I had to blend in, and I considered the possibilities.
There are beings who could use magic to change their clothing. Was that what I had seen? Or had it been a simple quick change?
“I''m on the prowl. Stand by,” I whispered, which was code for I was going into a new situation with an unknown enemy.
I passed by a few displays, some large canvas artworks, and several floral arrangements. Some individuals pushed past me heading toward their cars. I took a cart and proceeded through the main doors. I counted a dozen workers and nearly double that in customers within my line of sight. I passed the cash registers and everyone present seemed to be happily looking at the different sections and mulling over if they wanted to buy anything available.
Where would you go?
I moved relatively quickly down a few empty aisles and pretended to be interested in studio-quality paints and then varying sizes of poseable models displayed on a shelf beside boxed-up versions. I read the names and then looked at the prices. When you’re on the prowl, you’re a hunter and you need your true actions to go unnoticed. Employees tend to look for lost or uncertain customers. I spent a few seconds looking at a few products and tried to seem disengaged from any need to be approached by the proactive store employees. My shopping cartwheels rattled as I advanced from section to section. It was annoying, and it felt like a clock counting down to an explosion or a surprise attack. The small noises offered a layer of authenticity, but it presented a tick or worry that could put a monster on edge.
As I reached some seasonal wreaths, I quietly dismissed some waves and offered assistance. As I reached the fabric section, I ducked in among the thick rolls of fabric which were arranged in a variety of styles, designs, and textures set at prices that went up to premium once you reached the external wall. A few elderly women stood near the preparation table, chatting about the happy quilts they were putting together and their lovely grandchildren. I listened momentarily and then continued to the back aisle that moved into a corner. I was beginning to think my imagination was getting the best of me after a few minutes and a few comments about the ridiculous attitudes of their garbage man. I want some workers to head to another area. Sometimes, you see danger when you don''t mean to or when there''s nothing to see. Perhaps they have been the trick of the light. We don''t typically disregard those. Because we do it at our own peril. Or at least a considerable amount of pain.
“Mom, stand-” I loosened my grip on my cart and was about to abandon it. But then I paused when I heard the distinct click of a gun, small caliber, easily concealed.
Seriously? Who would draw a gun and make such an obvious show in a retail store?
I ditched the cart and promptly approached the end cap, careful not to knock anything off or out of sync to draw attention to me. There was a break between the fabric section and a large decor display. Which led to the framing area. There were frames on display and workstations where people could have their pictures professionally framed by a store employee.
There she was, the same fashionable jacket, boots, round sunglasses I had seen, and the woman in the parking lot. She assumed a rather model pose and had one hand forcibly in her pocket, which she extended towards a worker, a wiry boy, probably around 18 years old. He had a lean frame, pale skin, and a thick upper jaw.
“Two teeth,” I muttered with a compounded sense of dread.
I had no idea who the woman was, but her identity came second to the clerk. He was of an average build; simple features were slightly elongated. I gulped when I took in his pale skin and a bleached tint to his hair. It was a look that some would assume to be the salt and pepper look in older men. It was beyond strange to see it on a guy in his twenties. However, he had probably been in his twenties for a while.
The woman rather idiotically had decided to pull a gun on a vampire.
I choked, and Dad gave over the comm, and I pulled back as he spoke cryptically. He had to. Vampires, if they’re paying attention, can eavesdrop on phone calls. We were encrypted to prevent being hacked digitally, but there wasn’t a buffer in existence to prevent a natural incursion, like enhanced senses.
“Emma, I think we’ll get cat food later,” Dad said, “please keep an eye out for the sale we’ve talked about. I think Mom would die for it.”
The simple translation: Melanie was going to wait. If something was going down. I couldn’t just leave. If I had an opening, I was supposed to take it, and everyone would get into place to provide support. They didn’t dare come in right away. If one vampire was in the store. There was a chance more were present. They don’t move in packs, but vampires are exactly introverts.”
I returned to the previous position, with my attention on the woman, who was employing typical maneuvers to hide her firearm. She didn’t check her six and her body language didn’t come off as nervous or concerned. Instead, the clerk gave her a stare-down and then recoiled as the woman pulled a clear tube from her pocket with a circular metal device attached to the top. She kept it mostly obscured in her palm, but its mere presence was enough to put the boy on edge.
“I can''t do what you''re asking me to do,” he hissed harshly, but his mood had peaked, and he was getting angry. “It''s not going to happen. Not under that time frame.”
The woman gave a dismissive nod and said, “That''s not what I''d call good customer service, especially when I called in my order two days ago. Do I need to report you to your sire?”
She’s got some nerve to speak so opening about supernatural things. Anyone could waltz up and hear the exchange.
The boy shot her dismal glare, which was almost carnivorous in nature. It also carried a look of not this BS again. She had said the word sire, so she obviously knew what he was, while surprisingly, as far as the customer was concerned, her body language conveyed profound superiority. And it made the worker''s discomfort and position no more severe than a toddler complaining that he couldn''t have a cookie.
“She has a gun. She has weapons but why would you talk down to a vampire?”
There were plenty of hunters who would do it, and they’d have the knowledge and tools to keep a vampire’s tendencies in check long enough to subdue them, behead them, or get the information to lead them to the bigger, badder vampires.
“You can do what you want. He''d laugh you right off his porch,” the boy retorted. “The old fool doesn''t care about anything these days, and before you go remind me that he owes you a favor. And since you can''t find him, that debt falls on me. I''ve heard that several times from you, and I don''t care.”
The old fool? You only throw an insult like that around when you really have an impression about somebody. This kid, or rather this being, was definitely older than he looked. Meanwhile, the woman didn’t seem phased or defeated by his comments. Instead, she looked annoyed but wasn’t about to back down.
“As long as you get paid, why do you care?” She hissed.
He narrowed his gaze and flashed his teeth to prove his point. “Because I’m smart enough to know when I might be a scapegoat. Amy, like I told you on the phone, we''re not a high-quality chain. These frame materials are cheap and mass-produced by the thousands. These days, multiple frame sets have serial numbers, so the company can track sales and discontinue certain styles depending on the season. The police would easily track them back here, even if you had a chance to get away. These frames aren''t museum- or gallery-grade. With everything that has happened. I don’t want the attention. I like my life as it is, and I''m not about to put my neck on the line. Just because you think. I owe you.”
Frames? Museum and gallery grade? I looked at the woman and tried to size her up and her
“That is one aggressive shopper,” I whispered with some forced theater to make it seem like a fleeting comment instead of a situational assessment.
Translation: we have an armed thief in play.
Mom offered a cryptic response. “Do you see any purple shirts? We should check the sizes for the Christmas party.”
Simple translation: The woman had a gun, but did she have any powers? And how much of a threat was she?
Their dialogue continued and it fueled my speculation. The woman was in a mediocre craft store to have something framed. The journals documented that, on occasion, monsters had committed large-scale heists and burglaries. There were museums in town and some in neighboring towns and slightly larger cities, but none had paintings and pieces on display that were of any significant value.
I logged that away and it brought a core question to mind. You want to get something framed, and you''re gutsy enough to bully a vampire into helping you. Even some of the most inexperienced ones could rip a person''s head off. How and why are you so calm? That told me she was a threat, and she was hiding her real potential.
The woman set her hands against the counter and danced, shifting her weight from heel to heel. The clerk meanwhile maintained a firm demeanor, and as far as he was concerned, the issue was closed, and the decision was final.
The woman held her head low, and she was letting her emotions show, “Please don’t use my name in public. You came to name your price! I’m on a time crunch and this job is important enough to where I don’t care how much. You listen and listen well. I need this done now. You’ll outlive any trouble that might come your way.”
“I’ll pass, and good luck committing a high-profile crime in,” the clerk began, but the woman pulled back and, seizing the vampire by the throat. He coughed and choked, and as expected, he reached for her hand to pull it away, but she slapped his hand down and then landed repetitive punches squarely in the middle of his face. I tensed as I recognized the disorientation and the dazed expression. The clerk’s vampire features flashed across his face, and he slowly lifted his arms, but his muscles constricted, and his eyes began to droop.
The woman maintained her grip and moved around the counter, where she put a silver object in his face. Upon contact, the entire body went limp, and she allowed him to collapse in a heap at her feet. I pulled back, hoping the products on the end cap wouldn’t betray my position. For now, seemingly alone, the woman took a quick look around the section. I couldn’t tell if she was waiting for a reaction, or if she was worried someone was going to cry out in alarm. When no one appeared, I advanced into the open space beside some tiered displays, and seconds later, I heard some mumbled concerns. I picked up a frame, and in its faint reflection, I saw a woman in her late forties hurried over from the back of the store accompanied by men in blue button shirts wearing police-style belts complete with a taser, a gun, and a walkie-talkie. I didn’t freeze or hold any pretense of alarm. The woman had a stern expression, and I moved to a separate display; this one was stocked with motivational posters and pictures of exotic animals from the African Savanna. The woman and her security guard passed my position, and they approached the framing section, where I watched the vampire hop from behind the counter.
Only it wasn’t the vampire.
He hadn’t removed a pair of designer sunglasses.
“Chad, is everything alright?”
“Peachy,” Chad replied. The cadence, pitch, and personality were all there. Even the skin was pale, but it didn’t quite have the same sickly stain vampires were known to have. I pretended to shop while the woman, who I assumed was the manager and the security, began to ask some questions.
“Did some woman attack you?” the manager asked.
“No,” Chad said. “It’s been pretty quiet back here. Except, sorry. Did you need help?”
I felt all eyes fall on me, so I pulled out my phone and shook my head. “No thanks.”
Satisfied, I felt their attention return to each other. As I passed into an aisle full of tubes of paint and canvases, easels, pencils, and sketchbooks, I glanced, and the concern lingered, but Chad seemed to ease the tension.
“Emma, what’s going on?”
I faked the call and put my phone to my ear. “Hey, Mom, I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression. I need to work on not being such a copycat.”
“Oh, that’s a first.” Mom said.
Simple translation. Our thief was a shapeshifter.
“And it looks like something big is on the schedule,” I whispered. “The store has a vampire on the payroll, and she was trying to get him to frame something. He wouldn’t cooperate so she decided to play the part.”
“A shapeshifter thief is here,” Mom said, “Let ''s hold on.”
Mom messed with the communication system to link Pop and Dad into the call. Mom filled them in while Tony stayed alert on the family with cats just in case Melanie decided to show up.
“I’m impressed at your observation skills Emma,” Pop said. “You caught a shapeshifter lifting a form without thinking about it. That is no easy feat.”
“It’s also really bold,” Dad said. “If a shapeshifter is willing and capable to make a show of it out in the open. That’s some real skill.”
“So, Dad, what do you think I should do?” I said, “The shifter took out a vampire, but I’m not sure if she killed him or not and-”
I shot a glance back toward the frame section where the shifter was still posing as the vampire. Chad was looking through frames, and I caught sight of a shoe sticking out from behind the counter along with a duffel with two or three aged rolls of canvas stuck inside. The managers and security were gone, so apparently the shifter had talked her way out of the situation, and the official had bought the act.
“The options are to intervene or let it go,” Dad said, “I’m not a fan of letting a criminal get away, but is this something we really need to worry about? They could just be passing through.”
“Unlikely, the shifter was really pushy, and they knew each other,” I replied. “at least there was talk about a sire and a name drop.”
“Really?” Pop said, “who?”
“The clerk said the name Amy and she got on his case about it.”
I moved to some decorative boxes and felt that I could put my phone back into my pocket, and I proceeded to browse while the conversation seemed to have stalled, but these were moments when someone could be looking for information, and it doesn’t bode well to be impatient for information. In our line of work, the whole family is aware of the stakes.
“Doesn’t ring a bell to me,” Dad interjected, “Pop, who are the shapeshifters of note?”
“Well, there are four big winners,” Pop said. “Everyone, Someone, Anyone and No one. Only they go by Everett One, Samuel One, Amy One, and No One decided to be a bit more mysterious and maintain the moniker without a realistic alias. No One stays under the radar better than any of the others.”
“It can’t be a coincidence the clerk said the name Amy,” Dad observed, “and ouch! This is a stretch, but I wonder what if word has gotten around that M.A.G.E. is in a frenzy, and I bet a high-profile shapeshifter came here for anonymity. This is the last place any agents would think to look for them, and why not spend a few hundred bucks to prep for a job when your end goal is worth millions.”
“That’s a reasonable conclusion,” Pop agreed. “It’s sort of a silly irony that shapeshifters become forgers and antiques thieves. Emma noted that the shifter is trying to get something framed, so clearly, she wants to substitute a forgery for an original piece.”
“If word has gotten around the criminal underworld,” Mom said, “this shapeshifter might have some insight on what some of the heavy hitters know and are planning to do.”
“Including the name of the dark witch,” Pop said.
I moved some decorative boxes around. “Sounds like I should extend an invitation.” “Not yet,” Pop snapped firmly, “I agree Amy would be worth interrogating, but we need a better playing field to take her down.”
“Ok,” Dad said, “Pop, break it down.”
“Clif notes version please,” I hissed. “I can’t just sit here. She’ll get suspicious if I don’t move.”
Pop sniffed, “Shapeshifters usually go into entertainment as impressionists or comedians. A fare few worked as stunt doubles since their physicality gave them a slight edge against the average human. They could take a harder punch and fall a considerable distance without worrying about damaging internal organs or their skeletal structure. They’re not gelatinous blobs, but the most skilled shapeshifters stretch up to several feet and can move things around, expand their mass, or contract their size at will. The dangerous ones are smart. They’ll play it cool and if they’re given the chance, they’ll torture you. Make your life miserable and then take you down. Emma, are you wearing a jacket or long-sleeved shirt?”
“No,” I said.
“Get one on; steal it if you have to.” Pop urged. “Shapeshifters can mimic a person by sight, but they wouldn’t fool anyone like a family member or close friend. The impression would come as vague similarity, or you look like my buddy. Physical touch is the key if they want a good and lasting impression. They can brush up against their target and have the form. If they have any kind of prolonged contact, they’ll build a mental profile that lets them sell whoever they’re trying to impersonate.”
“Are we talking intimate or a hug or handshake?” Mom asked.
“That and more,” Pop replied. “If a shapeshifter gives you a high five, you might as well take your money and run because your life is over. They can use your face over and over. The impersonation can degrade over repetitive uses, but the damage will be done.”
“That makes sense,” I said, “but that doesn’t help me get close. Do I have to worry about Amy knowing a move before I make it if she becomes me?”
“No,” Pop said. “They can''t read your mind. But. With enough exposure, they can determine your heart rate and hormone level and how long you’ve been in the sun within a few hours before contact. Mentally, they’re great at interpreting these impressions. Give me a few minutes, and they’ll know about your activity level and fatigue. Some of the most skilled will know the last thing you ate because they’ll have residual clues in their mouths.”
“That is disturbing,” Mom said.
“It gets worse,” Pop said, “their unique perception offers a mental blueprint to copy movements, accents, and possibly personality traits. To the untrained person like a police officer or security guard, they’ll believe the shifter is you or whomever they’re impersonating. If they’re hired to pose as a public figure, a celebrity, or a political leader. The shapeshifter would need to conduct interviews and spend some time observing their subject if they want to pass off the impression as anything close to the real deal.”
I ventured a bit further away from the frame section, but I doubled back and came toward it from another angle. I hated the idea of being out of the line of sight from the shapeshifter and my heart raced as I pictured him appearing randomly behind him and having the pale face melt into my own. Mom posed a few questions, and I glimpsed a few shoppers, but none appeared to be heading in this direction. Meanwhile, the shifter seemed content to be engaged in his project. I fingered a few frames and looked at the prices of décor items. There wasn’t anything I would buy, but there was enough stuff to at least genuinely perk up my interest. I moved around further, pretending to browse. My window of opportunity was shrinking fast.
“Pop what are their weaknesses?” Mom asked, “How you do take something out that learns if it comes in contact with you?”
“They have two weaknesses that are easy to exploit with proper planning and backup. We probably will have to fudge some things, but we could use either option.”
“What are they?” Dad whispered while I kept glancing at the shapeshifter, who didn''t seem bothered by the body under the counter, and he hadn’t let on that he was aware that I was still around. I was grateful they didn''t have super hearing. But at the same time, I didn''t know if she could also copy any of the vampire''s abilities.
“A shapeshifter is a great impersonator. But physically, they can''t sweat, and they can''t shiver. Some of the better shifters can become inanimate objects, but they only do that under the direst of circumstances. It takes a lot of control, and it physically is pretty taxing, so they’d want to get away.”
I considered Pop’s breakdown as a mom and three kids approached the frame counter; I turned to the side. One kid, who I assume was the oldest, looked visibly annoyed while his siblings were screaming at each other. The mom shot show she perceived as the clerk an apologetic glance and then proceeded to play referee while she fished in her purse for her list or possibly a receipt.
“So, there is a physical response we could exploit, and we know a failsafe strategy,” Dad said, “that really only comes into play if they’re in a crowd and we’re trying to ID them. What’s the second option?”
I watched the imposter stare blankly at the mom before he visibly snapped like he had been momentarily disoriented and casually asked. “How can I help you?”
“Is the second weakness something about emotion and reaction time” I whispered.
“Exactly,” Pop replied. “Shapeshifters can mimic a range of emotions, but they have an obvious tell if you make a fool of yourself. Or if something unexpected happens?”
“Like if you haven’t worked retail,” I joked. “you can look the part, but it takes real skill to provide quality customer service.”
“Spot on,” Pop said. “ They can''t process regular emotions at the moment, so if someone screams or is angry, they’ll ignore it or have reactions that are beyond awkward. It''s-“
A scream drowned out Pop’s further commentary. I stiffened in alarm as the mom desperately pulled close to her, and she backed away in alarm. I scanned the space for the source before the imposter clerk, who looked at her bewildered for a simple second before being launched through the air like a ball flying to the outfield. My shoes squeaked against the floor as I shifted in alarm. I clapped my hands to my face as the shifter came down with a resounding crash beside some floral arrangements and some holiday signs. The mom held her kids close, and I covered my ears as the exclamation carried throughout the store.
“Emma, what’s happening!” Mom exclaimed. She yelled, but the commotion made her sound hardly louder than a whisper.
“The imposter was punched into the air.” I stammered over some grunts and a flurry of commotion. I watched some displays tip over and some glass bottles break on a delayed reaction from the impact. The disbelief was staggering and then a snarl followed a second later, and the real clerk pushed himself to his feet, baring his teeth. He shook his head, disoriented. His arms and face were placed, and he wavered but managed to brace himself on the counter. I grimaced as his attention fell on the mom and kids. His teeth and claws were in full display.
“Oh, this isn''t good,” I said. “The shifter didn''t kill the vampire; she just knocked him out, and now he''s awake and angry.”
“There are only a handful of things you can use to knock out a vampire,” Pop said, “and each one causes a nasty hangover. This isn’t good!”
“Emma, the vampire cannot be allowed to feed on a customer!” Dad ordered without delay or a moment’s hesitation. “Take him out now! Then get out of there. FAST!”