Page 44 of Snow

“In return, you’ll get your vial of blood. Don’t worry about that.” Miranda’s tone is snappy, impatient. She snatches something from an outstretched hand. I notice a tattoo on the figure’s knuckles.

“Miranda…” The figure says darkly. “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, you know that? She took down the Shadow King. Do you really think⁠—”

He’s talking about Nova. What the…?

I jolt backwards. Miranda’s jaw is stretching like she’s about to shift. Her head jerks from side to side. Then something that looks like tentacles springs from her mouth. Tentacles with teeth. They grab hold of the figure and pull him into the light.

He is old. He has gray hair and a wisened face. His eyes bulge as the tentacles tighten around his throat. Miranda’s jaw is hanging open. Her eyes are pitch black. She tilts her head and blinks strangely.

Fuck.

She’s not human, not a witch, not… Miranda.

She is something else.

“You’re not…” The man’s eyes bulge in his skull, widening. “What the fuck did you do to her? What are you?”

The monster inside Miranda hisses, then the teeth on its large black tentacles sink into his neck. Blood drips down his throat. His eyes roll back.

The tentacles loosen and drop him to the floor. He is still breathing. Miranda’s jaw closes. She brushes down her skirt and tilts her head from side to side.

That’s it. That’s what I saw… her reactions haven’t felt like her reactions because she’s not herself. She’s something else. A demon, or a monster. But not a witch.

I dart back, staying low and out of sight.

I watch her cross the green, and when I see her in the distance crossing back toward the bus station, I hurry down the steps then shift back into human form.

The man on the floor blinks up at me. “Werewolf,” he mutters.

I tuck my hands under his arms and drag him back inside. Lifting him into a chair, I run through the living room to a small galley kitchen and grab a dish cloth. I press it to the wounds on his neck. He breathes out slowly and gestures to a bottle of vodka on the sideboard. I pass it to him and he takes a deep swig. “First aid kit, under the stairs,” he mutters.

I fetch it, and hand it to him. He flicks it open, drinks down a vial of what looks like blood, then sighs.

When he removes the cloth, the wounds are healed.

He leans forward onto his knees. “Thank you,” he says, looking me up and down. “Didn’t think I’d be saved by a wolf. But who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my house?”

“First, I have a question for you.” I stand in front of him, arms folded. “What the fuck was that? And what did it do to Miranda?”

* * *

I cross the green, following Miranda’s scent back toward the museum. If I can even call her Miranda anymore. Not her… it. Not a person. Not a human, not a witch.

The old man’s words circle in my head.

When did this happen? How long has she been like this?

I need to get back to Nova. I need to get back to her now.

Crossing past the bus station, I glance over toward the homeless man. He is sleeping, slumped to his side.

I pause. Something isn’t right. I creep over to him and sniff gently.

He’s not sleeping.

He’s dead. Unlike the old man, she finished him off. Blood leaks from his neck. Tiny little holes, like pinpricks, flecked all over his dirt stained skin.

I run before anyone can see me and assume it was a wolf that did it. No wolf could do that, but the people who live here don’t pride themselves on understanding the supernatural world that surrounds them.