Scarlett Wrappley's Arc

Chapter 2 of 9

Two nights had passed since Scarlett fled the bar. The enchanted tequila taught her nothing yet. Her plastic bag hung nearly empty, and the hunger clawed at her ribs. She needed blood, just enough to think straight. So she took her old path along the narrow alley, where stray cats often died. Tonight a fresh carcass lay in the open. A cat, throat torn, still warm. Blood pooled bright on the cracked stone. Scarlett's mouth watered. She crouched and reached for it. Then she saw the rope. A circle of thick cord lay coiled around the cat. Blue light crawled through its knots. Strange marks glowed along each loop. This was no trash. Someone had woven it with magic and set it here on purpose. She jerked her hand back. Too late. The runes flared. The rope snapped up and lashed her wrists together. She fell hard. The loops tightened around her arms and legs, humming with heat. She twisted and pulled, but the magic held. Her strength meant nothing against it. Boots crunched at the alley's mouth. An old man stepped from the shadow. Gray beard, muddy boots, suspenders straining over a plaid shirt. Ezekiel Crowe. The hunter who had counted her teeth from his barstool. He walked slow, in no hurry at all. "Knew you'd come back for something dead," he said. His voice scraped like a dull blade. "Your kind can't help it." Scarlett bared her fangs and hissed. "Let me go." He crouched just past her reach. He smelled of dirt and gun oil. He studied her the way a man studies a pinned insect. "That barman friend of yours smells like wet dog," he said. "Two of you now. But I only carry one bag at a time." He pulled a wide sack from his belt. Scarlett kicked, but the rope drew her ankles tight. The magic burned where it touched. She screamed for help. No one came. Ezekiel yanked the glowing cords. They lifted her like a hooked fish. He shoved her toward the sack. She snapped at his hand and missed. He only chuckled and pressed harder. Her plastic bag slipped from her grip. It skidded across the wet stone. The tequila bottle rolled out, still glowing faint, and stopped against a crate. She stretched for it and caught nothing but rope. The hunter cinched the sack over her head. Darkness swallowed the alley light. She felt herself lifted, thrown over his shoulder like game. "Your friend's next," Ezekiel said through the cloth. "But first, let's see what makes you tick." He carried her off. Behind them, the glowing bottle lay abandoned by the crate, waiting in the dark. Scarlett's plan to live among humans had just cost her freedom instead.