Tom sat on the ladder he’d set up inside the barn. It was a simple repair job but he’d foolishly been focused on other things while he was hammering in the last of the nails. The hammer had caught his left thumb and while the smack had not been too bad it had cut his them on the nail he’d been holding. Sitting in the early autumn air he let the blood drip slowly to the dirt at the front of the Carrow’s Barn. The shoring for the barns main door would hold until he could get a couple guys to come out and help him replace the frame of the barn door. The wood was older and consequently it had fractured. Tom suspected that the wood which had been used originally was subpar but he hadn’t said anything to Ben Carrow, the owner of the property. The Carrow’s lived out in Wenham which wasn’t that bad of a drive and the pay was good but mostly he was doing it because Ben’s wife Lisa had helped one winter when Claire had been sick and Tom had been contracted by the county to do telephone pole repair work when they were short handed. This was largely a favor to the family. That and a quick paycheck as well as the promise of a proper job.

As the bleeding finally stopped Tom picked up another of the nails and set it in the wood. Instead of picking up the hammer he simply focused on the nail and with an expenditure of energy he drove the nail deep into the wood with his magic. It was simpler and he didn’t risk smacking his hand again now that it was injured. Without bothering to pick up the next nail he simply picked it up with his mind and drove it into the next hole in the bracket. Tom was not a fan of using magic in such a fashion but the pain in his thumb was enough to annoy him and he wanted to go to a tavern in town before he went home for the evening.

With the bracket complete, Tom climbed down from the ladder and started to fold it up. As he did so he happened to look at the ground and a cold chill climbed his spine. The blood droplets had run, but not in any natural pattern. It was an X a V and a line in the dirt. As Tom walked across the space between the barn and the house he shuddered. The blood in the dirt was not a good sign. Particularly since he was not sure what it meant. At least not yet. It might be time to tell Tracy but he wanted to investigate further before he brought anything up to the Hive’s leader. No doubt more signs would follow if there was something disturbing the flow of things, perhaps it was simply best to wait and see.

--

The Indo had been in Salem since the 1800’s and Tom had hunted it down as soon as he’d moved back to Salem. It was traditional Irish and he loved it, particularly their cider since it was the taprooms own brew. Sitting at one of the tables beside the front window Tom contemplated his injured thumb. Lisa had wrapped it for him but the floor had seeped part of the way through the bandage so he could start to see the red.

Salem had been less and less of a safe place to hide. Strangely for a few years it had been pretty safe to live in but of late it felt like the town was drawing more and more hunters as well as more unstable vampires and werewolves. The resident packs, Coven and of course the Witch Hive had probably been drawing the hunters in over the course of years. That and Tom suspected there was something else going on in Salem. It had been bothering him for the better part of a year but today seemed to confirm his suspicion that there was something going on. Some darker power, some disturbance in the natural flow of magic in and around the city.

Harkin set down the cider Tom had asked for and it snapped him out of the thoughts. Looking up at the Vampire owner of the bar Tom raised an eyebrow to match the eyebrow that the Indo’s owner had raised at him. “What’s that look Tom.” Harkin’s accent had been carefully maintained since the man had arrived here in the early 1900’s though it had faded to something understandable by the residents of the town. Though Tom could still hear it in the length of the O’s in Harkin’s look. Shaking his head Tom waved the Tavern owner off. “It’s nothing to be worried about.” Harkin finished Tom’s thought for him. “..Yet.” Tom paused and eyed the strange green yellow eyes of Harkin it was clear that the vampire could feel it too. “Yet. I’ll let you know if you need to run. I just saw something strange today.” The owner nodded as though this were understandable and left Tom to his drinking.

Taking out his cards the Warlock considered the worn Tarot deck quietly. If only he could read them like a true diviner. While he had plenty of general skill and could get a general idea from the cards, the patterns that a true diviner could see were lost on him. No matter how he practiced it he could never quite read the way he’d like to be able to. Though he had other talents elsewhere. Looking out the window Tom quirked an eyebrow as a light tap of rain caught his attention. They were five days from the 31st of October. This was going to be an interesting end of the year no doubt.

A mix of liquor, booze, and marijuana still tainted the air, with a touch of vomit to nettle one's nose. The sun was reaching it's peak in the sky, but the cloudy day blocked the morning rays, preventing the young college student from waking up on time, or even at all. By this time, it was reaching afternoon, and besides the scent, the booming headache seemed to cause a painful groan to escape from Luke's throat. He repositioned himself on the cold floor and clenched his leather jacket for heat, attempting to get more comfortable. Luke's eyes opened lazily, blinking a few times to dismiss the blur of the first few moments of waking up. Whether it be the chirping of the morning birds, or the sight of the scattered red, solo cups and the filth of last-nights cocktails, it was then that Luke realized his tardiness. Jumping up on his feet, he let out another groan and rubbed his throbbing head, massaging his temples as he looked around the messy room. Among the several cups and puddles of spilled liquor, a broken, beer pong table and sofa cushions added to the disaster.

Luke unlocked his phone to look at the time, causing a devastated expression to form along his face,"Shit." Luke rushed across the frat house and into his room, pulling out random clothes and throwing them on. He rushed to the bathroom, ignoring the drunk girl that passed out next to the toilet to fix his hair and face to make him look more presentable. He threw a few pieces of spearmint gum in his mouth to drown out his morning breath as he threw his bag over his shoulder and sprinted to class.

The fall chill seemed to have no affect on him from his rushing adrenaline as he swung doors open and swerved around incoming students. It wasn't long before he was outside the doors of his ongoing morning class. He took a moment to catch his breath and fix himself, opening the door as several heads turned towards him. Luke gave a soft nod of his head as he quietly made his way to his usual seat, sitting uncomfortably and embarrassed. The professor even took a moment of silent as Luke shamefully walked in, tardy. The girl next to him scorned as she mumbled to him,"You smell disgusting."

As the professor continued the lecture, a girl from behind him leaned over,"Cool party last night, Luke." The comment was followed by a series of giggles.

The class was nearly over, the class being dismissed only thirty minutes after Luke's arrival. The girl next to him commented,"Why did you even bother to come in today?"

While Luke was popular among many of the students, he wasn't necessarily favored in his human anatomy classes since he excelled whilst having a cocky attitude. He ignored the comment and approached the teacher as the students began to pour out from the classroom,"What did I miss today, teach'?"

The teacher spoke sternly, her short, brunette bob and her catty-shaped glasses made her a very memorable professor. She didn't bother to look at him, probably smelling the scent of last night's party off him,"I went over the next section and introduced new medical terminology that aren't listed in the sections. Here's a packet that is assigned to each student, due next class." She paused as she shuffled through all the papers,"Also, here." She handed him a thick packet that was a written essay by Luke marked with 'D'.

"D!? You're kidding me, right?" Luke questioned, seeming to be devastated a second time this day.

"I wasn't at all impressed, maybe you should spend less time partying, and more time studying," She gave him a fake smile and began to organize things in her bag.

"Wait, wait, wait, but you've seen my work! You've seen what I can do! You can't tell me that no other student in this class is better than me when it comes to medical practice," Luke defensively tried to convince her.

"I'm not permitted to say whether that's true or not," She gathered her belongings and stopped before leaving the room, "Your medical practice is strangely incredible, and frankly, I don't know how you do it. Your paper -- that speaks otherwise. Fix it and maybe I'll change the grade." With that, she exited the room.

Luke sighed, staring at the paper in the now empty room, the red ink seeming to laugh at him and mock him. Although, beyond all metaphors pertaining to laughing letters, the ink seemed to have a strange presence to it. The red gleamed with slight pigment changes and a soft glow, while the ink bled thicker and began to stretch out to present a more bolder letter. Luke quirked a brow and ignored the peculiar moment, stuffing the paper in his bag.



While the rough start of Luke's day would imply that it'd be best to catch up on sleep and study the material that he missed in class, he instead made, yet another, poor decision and walked the streets of Salem, rethinking his actions and trying to remember the events of last nights party. A part of him also roamed to avoid going back to the frat house from an unwillingness to clean up the mess that was made. While his head still throbbing from a hangover, he made his way to one of his favored, local pubs. Perhaps it was his Irish heritage that made him have a soft spot in his heart for local pubs and mom and pop shops. Regardless, Luke craved more drinks despite his hangover, but that was fixable. He proceeded to a small ally and looked around for potential witnesses. Without a person in sight, Luke put his fingers to his temples, closed his eyes and quickly casted a spell to subdue the symptoms of his hangover. With that, it was time to enter the pub.

Luke, decked out in his leather jacket, grey joggers, and black t-shirt, found his way to the bar and set his plain, black backpack next to his barstool. Ordering the taprooms' deliciously brewed cider, he eyed the man next to him with the same drink. Without taking a glance at his appearance at all, his mouth opened,"Great drink choice." Luke chuckled, but his attention was quickly taken from the cider and moved to the Tarot cards. Luke knew of these cards and his mind ran to it's supernatural side and the assumptions began to form. Though, it was common for regular humans to try to utilize it's potential powers of divination, not just witches and warlocks. It was then that Luke would study his appearance to try to discern whether or not he was of a supernatural kind. Being in Salem, the chances were more likely than anywhere else.

A man that bore dark grey and white hairs, and an attire that fit the description of a working man. His burliness could be considered a werewolf if he was of a supernatural species, but Luke chose not to assume. Luke took a sip from his cider and questioned him instead,"That doesn't look like your ordinary deck of cards. What are they?"

Blaine awoke with a pounding headache at 9:30AM and an itch that seemed to encompass her entire body underneath her skin. As if a myriad of microscopic ants were marching anxiously to and fro. Blaine groaned and slung an arm over her eyes in frustration. She hated waking up early. Even more so she hated waking up early with a pounding headache and an army of ants marching relentlessly underneath her skin. She gritted her teeth. She knew the feeling. Her wolf was unsettled. And when that happened the urge to shift was stronger than usual. Blaine kicked irritably at the sheets, tangled around her legs. When she managed to finally get free, she slung her legs off the bed and sat on the edge with her head in her hands. She needed to center herself before her wolf got the better of her and she took off for the woods in pelt. She wasn't a pup anymore. Quite the opposite. She knew how to control her baser animal instincts that came as a package deal with her being a werewolf.

Blaine stood up and padded quietly barefooted out of her bedroom, through a corridor or two until she was in front of the back door of her house that opened up to the back yard, which appeared to seamlessly merge with the Forest River Conservation Area Park. She wordlessly crossed the smooth wooden surface of her back porch and descended the four or so steps until her feet felt the softness of the fresh green grass of her lawn. She stopped to allow her senses to fully take in the feel of the grass between her toes. The wetness of the fresh morning dew. Blaine allowed the feeling to anchor her into her body and took a deep breath of fresh morning air. She exhaled slowly. Then inhaled again. And exhaled once more allowing the deep breathing to center her. Slowly she lowered herself on the ground. Right knee first, than the left and positioned herself until she was sitting in seiza. It was her preferred position for meditation.

The minutes ticked off as she emptied her mind and concentrated on her breathing. In a few more minutes she inhaled deeply and probed deeper within herself and immediately encountered her wolf's anxiety. It was palpable. Pulsing and roiling. The ants once again began marching underneath her skin. Blaine didn't allow the feeling to overwhelm her. She continued the calm, deep, cleansing breathing. After a few more minutes the ants quieted down and Blaine breathed a sigh of relief. She'd managed to calm her wolf, but the anxiety was still there. Her animal instincts were picking up on something that was raising her hackles almost alarmingly.

Blaine stood up and walked inside the house. It was almost fifteen minutes past ten. It was no use trying to go back to sleep, so she resigned herself to go about her daily routine. Shower first, breakfast and then work. She'd found a gorgeous garden bench at a yard sale in Andover a couple of weeks ago. The previous owners obviously didn't have the patience to properly treat the wood or simply didn't know how to protect it from weathering and had butchered it by painting it over a vile orange color to match their outdoor furniture and decor. Blaine wanted to restore it for her own back yard. Removing the paint would be a time consuming endeavor. But she wanted to uncover the wood's natural color. Then she would simply treat it with a coat of transparent varnish et voila! She would have the perfect bench for her back porch.

She'd just finished working on a carpentry project for a new house owner and had put the final touches on her latest carving project as well. So she needed something new to keep busy. But something not as time consuming as taking on a new carpentry project or starting a new carving. The bench was the perfect choice. The bulk of the work would be stripping off that god awful paint. It would be the perfect distraction from this thing that had her wolf senses on high alarm.


After a short breakfast Blaine headed to her workshop with her tea mug in hand.

---

Blaine locked the front door to her house and went for the shed where she kept her chopper. She was still antsy. The feeling of unease from the morning hadn't really gone away. Her wolf wanted to run, but somehow she didn't feel like it was the best option right now, so instead she decided to go for the next best thing. Which was ride her chopper. She'd donned the necessary safety gear, put on her leather jacket and bike gloves and was ready to go. She rode around town for a while, letting her anxiety subside to bearable levels, before heading for one of her favorite pubs, the Indo. As a fan of the Irish and Celtic culture, she loved the atmosphere of the pub and felt cozy and almost at home there.

She parked her bike in front of the pub, took off her helmet, gloves and jacket. Walking towards the pub she tousled out her helmet hair and smiled faintly hearing the jovial Irish tunes, coming from inside the bar. She took her usual seat. A small table in one of the pub's corners, facing the front door. A waiter approached the table and upon recognizing her grinned.

"The usual, Chief?"

Blaine looked at the young man grinning down at her. Rory was a handsome lad with his windblown bronze complexion, deep blue eyes and curly black hair. Way back when she'd relocated to Salem and had found the Indo for the first time he'd attempted to try his hand at charming her into his bed. Apparently some of his waiter buddies and especially the proprietor of the establishment had sat him on the straight and narrow. This woman was way out of his league. Apparently they'd also told him her rank with the Coast Guard and ever since then it had become a sort of a bantery greeting between them.

"You know it!" Blaine confirmed with a grin of her own. Her blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Cajun fries and one hot cocoa coming right up!" He mock saluted and rushed off to the kitchen.

Blaine's eyes followed his departing figure for a second or so before she allowed them to roam the interior of the pub. The Indo wasn't empty, but it wasn't full either. There were a couple of people at the bar, some seated on tables like her. She did see a familiar face however. She recognized a burly man, sitting at the bar. Blaine didn't know him personally, but her being a carpenter and him being a contractor, she knew of Tom Finch by reputation. Blaine didn't want to intrude, so she allowed her eyes to stray from his back and continue roaming the rest of the pub's interior. Just as Rory was delivering her order of Cajun fries and hot cocoa a young man entered the pub and headed straight for the bar. He plopped down near Tom Finch, placing his backpack near his stool. The young man placed his order and proceeded to strike up a conversation with the contractor.

Rory followed her gaze and grinning lowered his head to whisper to her.

"And here I thought men were not your speed, Chief."

Blaine looked at Rory with mirth in her eyes. "Damn, you've found me out! I only used it as an excuse to keep pups like you away."

Rory straightened and clutched his chest above his heart.

"Ouch! You wound me, Chief!" He barked out a laugh. "Boss, sais 'enjoy your meal'."

"Thanks, pup!"

Rory walked away shaking his head, still laughing.

Blaine set her gaze towards the bar and waited for Harkin to catch her eye. When they made eye contact she smiled and nodded raising her hot cocoa in thanks. He nodded in response.

---

"Spooky, scary spectacular! Monster deals now thru the first of November!"

Her eyes narrowed as that damned sign caught a breeze from the entrance doors and blocked her view from camera three. That was the third time today it had happened, and she had already told the executive lead that it was a security issue. Why it was he allowed it to be hung in that particular spot, she would likely never figure out, but that didn't stop it from annoying her to no end. It didn't help that it was advertising the swiftly approaching holiday, perhaps her least favorite time of the year. All the people scurrying from aisle to aisle, getting the last of their decorations in order or stocking up on candies… It was truly unbearable.

Speaking of which, a knock on the door to her office announced the entry of Richard, the short and portly executive team leader for the store. His beady and nervous eyes reminded her constantly of a farm animal, the kind that if she said aloud would be fairly accurate for his appearance and behaviour, but would see a fast response from HR.

"Ah, Jen. Good to find you in the off-"

"Out with it, Richard."

There was only so much of his nasally tone that she could tolerate in one sitting, and with the way her day was going that point was swiftly approaching. As if sensing as much, Richard backed slowly out of the doorway and into the adjoining hallway, giving a short nod to acknowledge her. "We're having a store meeting in fifteen minutes. I would appreciate it if you attended this one." Great. She hated these meetings, and if it wasn't for him showing his porcine face in the security office, she would have dodged this one as well. Rather than dignify his request with a yes or no, Genevieve narrowed her eyes and grit her teeth, as much of a "Fine." as she was going to give. As if the day hadn't been bad enough, now she had to stand around on the floor in uniform with the rest of the team. With luck no one would bother her and she could clock out after the meeting in peace…

---

"... He's just been so frisky lately, I think it's the colder weather or maybe the humidity. The rain is really bad for his fur you know? That and being cooped up with all the others. Oh, I think this winter is going to be a really bad one, what do you think miss Alleron?"

"Jesus. H. Christ." Sometimes she truly wished she was still making a living off getting shot at. At the very least back then she could shoot back. No one talked about their fifteen cats back then either. Who the hell keeps that many of anything under the same roof? Thankfully Richard was coming around the corner with his clipboard, perhaps the only time she would ever be happy to see him waddle into view.

"I think the winter will be manageable enough, Edith." She was courteous enough to give a response to the elderly inventory team lead, even managing a false smile her way as the meeting began.

It was the same song and dance for much of the meeting, monthly figures for each department was rolling in and the yearly lecture about overtime. Make sure to do double the workload in the same amount of time as normal, and also keep the orders extra tight so as not to go over budget, but make sure to stock all the sale items. The collective groan was the same this year as it was the last, and the one before it. Retail woes at their finest, and the big one was just a month away. At the very least she would be a fair bit more relevant during that time, instead of feigning interest in the wonders of the latest store display for the grocery department, or the new furniture they were setting up.

"And last, but certainly not least." Thankfully, he was nearly done talking to them, a quick glance at her watch showed it was five minutes till and everyone else was already eyeing the door to the timeclock. "Halloween is in just a couple days, and that means two things! First, a reminder that while everyone is free to dress up in costume for the day of, corporate would like to ask that we keep everything family friendly for our guests. Nothing scary, and no monsters! We don't want a repeat of last year…"

Oh. That was directed at her. Genevieve tactfully looked in a different direction, avoiding the pointed stare her way. It wasn't her fault that someone thought it would be a good idea to sneak up on her in a werewolf costume. She hadn't even broken anything, except for maybe the poor sod's dignity when he got flipped onto his back by someone half his size.

"Also, we have the company picnic coming up in the third week of November. Since only a couple people brought items last year, we've decided to cater this year's event. It'll be the barbecue place a couple stores down from us in the shopping center, so if anyone has any requests please make sure to place them in the suggestions box next to my door. That's it for today everyone, have a good rest of your shift for those of you on flow, and everyone else have a great night! Remember, teamwork makes the dream work!"

She was gone before he finished speaking, already at the time clock and punching out with the rest of them on her heels. After today she really felt like she needed a drink, thought it honestly took little convincing for her to consider taking the drive down to the bar. Perhaps the Indo would be good for a change of pace? It had been awhile since she stopped by, and her misunderstanding with the bar owner was water under the bridge at this point… Unless he didn't have any good scotch. That would be cause for a rather dire misunderstanding.

---

It had been an hour since Genevieve escaped retail hell, changing out of the red polo and khaki pants into something far more comfortable in the form of a rather conservative purple blouse and jeans. She wasn't exactly looking to impress, and anything except work clothes was appealing to her at that present moment. Luckily the Indo was a fairly short drive away, though she still despised driving any distance and would have preferred to walk if it wasn't so inconvenient most days. Even better it seemed the pub wasn't too busy this time of day, perks of visiting on a Monday she supposed.

She parked at the side of the building, the beep of the car's alarm automatically switching on just barely audible over the jaunty music from within the pub. Drinking songs never really were her thing, though she understood it to be the national pastime of the Irish. That and actually drinking along with the music. Her eyes briefly crossed over the bike parked in front, something about it striking her odd and triggering a feeling of unease deep in the back of her mind. It was just a motorcycle. Perhaps she was a little more on edge than she thought, and that drink would be even more welcome in that case.

Inside she found it to be just like she remembered from the last visit, and like every other pub and bar in Salem or elsewhere. People sat at the bar with their chosen drink while others enjoyed a meal either before or after their own long day. Two in particular stood out to her, the tarot cards on the counter attracting her attention before she took a seat not too far away.

"You are quite possibly, the worst hunter I have ever heard of." Ah, there was Harkin. At the very least he wasn't calling for her to be escorted out by the security guard near the door. Her night could very well be salvaged with a decent drink assuming that no one else was in earshot and got the wrong impression of her. To that end, she kept her voice down though allowed the faintest of smirks to cross her lips.

"But you have heard of me."

That was enough to diffuse the situation and let him know that she was only here for a drink, not to cause trouble. Then again, that was generally her reputation among the varied supernatural communities in Salem. At least those who kept track of those who hunted them. It afforded her some leeway, as she was known for not actively tracking people down unless they started making trouble. That meant she could sit at the bar and order drinks from a Vampire without much more than idle teasing, and more easily acquire information from them.

"I see you've managed to get a bottle of Bruichladdich Classic."

She inclined her head towards the blue bottle sitting on the alcohol shelf behind the Vampiric owner. "Neat if you would." Harkin shook his head slowly and turned to grab a glencairn glass, setting it on the counter in front of her and pouring the alcohol slowly. Genevieve didn't take long to indulge in the drink, the smoky overtones melting away the building stress of her day and allowing her to quietly enjoy the moment of relaxation in the pub. Seated as she was, she had a decent view of the floor of the main room, eyes tracking movement between the kitchen and each table as well as the patrons. Nothing stood out to her at first other than the pair a few chairs down from her with the tarot cards. What kind of person brought cards to a bar that weren't for playing poker?

That distraction had taken up quite enough of her attention, though she was aware of herself enough to keep her face directed down at her drink while she surveyed her surroundings. That was when she noticed the woman sitting by herself at a corner table. Something about her made her uneasy just in the way her eyes roamed the other patrons. Those blue eyes were uncomfortably sharp, to the point where she returned her attention back to her drink in order to gather herself. It had been quite a long day, and she was capping it with a rather strong scotch as her first drink of the night. A slow and deep breath reordered her thoughts, dismissing one by one the threat indicators her mind had drawn up, and the already forming route of withdrawal.

It also helped to feel the weight of her Beretta pressing against her waist in its holster. Everything was cool. The thought repeated in her mind until she had taken another few drinks, relaxing down again and leaning back in the high back bar-chair. Salem had been keeping her more on edge than she had liked of late, perhaps the approaching holiday made it feel more tense than it really was. Maybe she just needed a good drinking budd- Nope. Genevieve killed the thought before it proliferated beyond just idle musing. She was just fine drinking alone at the bar. Absolutely nothing wrong with having a drink all by yourself. Another drink dismissed those thoughts as well, and with a tap of two fingers on the counter, Harkin swung back by to refill her glass. Another wonderful day in Salem.

Day 1 - Mid-day, just after noon
Tracy's Home, 1132 Rockside Street

A fairly cloudy day was visible outside Tracy's upstairs windows. She satin a rocking chair, three toothpicks between her left hand's fingers, with a large bowl on the ground to catch the bits and pieces she inevitably couldn't hold as she made more and more of them. Business was slow, she thought as a a couple fingers of her right hand rose to twirl strands of her blonde hair. Even in the lack of true sunlight, there was a light reddish glint. The morning didn't have much going on at all. She left her place in the care of a young lady. 17? 18? Something in that range. The girl could have been 25 and look like that. Such was the nature of witches in the town. Some of the older ones wanted to revel in their youth, a very unwise idea. The spell to shave years off, at least visually, wasn't difficult, but it certainly wouldn't go unnoticed. She'd need to have another talk with those seniors, later.

But for the moment, she thought, back to the shop was a good idea. The girl that was there... Grace... was new, and though she showed some aptitude and seemed like a good addition, she wasn't business canny. She certainly wasn't too hunter canny, unless Tracy somehow drove the right ideas into her head in such a short amount of time. Tracy chuckled quietly as she stood and deposited the rest of the bits into the half-filled bowl. Unlikely.

Then again, she thought as she went down her creaky aged stairs wearing nothing at all, witches and warlocks learned their places quickly in Salem...

---

Day 1, 2 1/2 Hours Later
Tracy's Boutique

The boutique was as lively as ever, Tracy thought as she casually walked down the street in her usual comfortable white garb. Not with people, of course. No, she was lucky to get three stops a day. It wasn't a booming business in Salem. People probably wondered how the place was still standing. Old family wealth, some rather nice flowers, and perhaps a little witchery kept it in shapely condition. She walked in and immediately gave a nod to the girl behind the counter. Huh. she's a teenager, Tracy thought at the woman who now looked quite mature, and rather nice too for one who Tracy knew was young of age. Whatever she was, she did something to make herself look older. That was a new one.

"Good day miss," Grace chirped as Tracy stepped behind the counter. Definitely did something to make herself older. In fact, it wasn't there this morning.

"Good day, Grace," the older witch replied as she took up a spot behind the counter to look at the various shelves and rows of flowers. The place practically overflowed with them, and most of them looked quite nice. Not all of them, that would attract suspicion. There were a few aging, less-than-optimal selections for the occasional hunter to walk in and reassure themselves that as weird the place was, at least someone wasn't enchanting all the flowers to full bloom and perfect colors.

Just some of them.

"Ah, Grace," Tracy called as Grace began to step away to sort and water the flowers. Real flowers with real dirt, and even long trays where they were grown on the spot on the top of the shelves reaching just below chest height. A fairly sophisticated creation, even if it made the place resemble a garden half the time. "Could you be a dear and remove that charm before a hunter walks in and sees you aged five years in three hours?"

A light "dammit" came to Tracy's ears before the girl piped up and responded. "Yes Tracy." she walked quickly to the back room, where she could remove the spell in peace. How Grace even learned that was a surprise. Or maybe not. There were a few books in parts of the house that dealt with charms and the like. Minor and almost harmless, but apparently Grace found the one book... Tracy sighed and almost leaned over the counter before thinking better of it and instead walking out to the rows of plants. She looked at various pots and leaves, seeing their conditions, looking at worms that poked out of the dirt. That too was just for appearances, but she didn't mind them.

If nobody walked in soon, perhaps she'd be adventurous later in the day and find something interesting to do. There had to be something to do in this old town. She could read again, but she read so much last week...

---

Waking up had been surprisingly pleasant, no nightmares, waking up and not going back to sleep, for the first time in a long time he had gotten a full night of sleep and it felt great. He usually woke up with a look of pain and despair in his eyes, and he tried his best throughout the day to cover it up with smiles and light laughs. Today was different though, today Dante felt good and ready to get out and start living. He did his normal morning routine, and when he had just got dressed the smell of bacon and pancakes invaded his nostrils. He was wearing a red hoodie, black ripped jeans, and back vans, simple and ready for work. When he reached the dining room his mother and grandmother sat there eating, the table was big enough to hold seven but there three of them had only ever been the ones to use it. His grandmother insisted they eat as a family in the mornings and at night, and since she was moving on soon he only obligated out of respect for her.

Since Dante returned a year ago, these family breakfast/dinners had been over shadowed by his pain and anger towards his grandmother, soon that anger turned into hate and just overall dislike for his grandmother. The only reason he came back was because she was dying, and he wanted to be there when she kicked the bucket, she killed his first love and now the magic she used is catching up to her so it would only be fitting that he be there when she die. Each one knows what the other is doing, there are no hidden motives or back passive aggressive feelings. She knows Dante hates her, but the old woman was stubborn and would not apologize for what she did. Dante was eating with a pleasant expression, everyone saw this but even his mother knew it did not mean conversion. She was not in his good book either, she watched as it happened and did not care to warn him or even try to stop it, they still talked but it would never be the same again.

After the awkward breakfast, the only thing left to do was grab his bag and head to work. "Are you feelings okay, you seem different?" His mother asked him on his way out the door, she was happy to see her son smile again.

"Everything is fine mom, great actually. I think I might actually have to find something to ruin my day. See you tonight and call me if anything happens." Dante said with a genuine smile, then closed the door behind him. It may have been cloudy outside, but it was bright inside his heart and he was gonna hold onto his new found light.

---

Blaine had just polished her Cajun fries and was on her way to finish her hot cocoa when the door of the Indo opened and in walked someone she could stand to observe for longer than a fleeting moment.

Rory, who was currently cleaning up her vacated plate noticed where her focus had shifted and turned to take a peak.

"You really don't go for the guys, huh, Chief?" The young man spoke as if up until know he had harbored some smidgen of hope, however week it might have been. And upon seeing Blaine's reaction to the newcomer even that fragile hope had died.

Blaine returned her gaze to her server and chuckled. "Not if I have any say in it. Not really."

"She's..." Rory paused observing the redhead that had just walked into the pub. "Interesting." He finished.

She was distinctly of Asian descent, surprisingly tall for someone of her heritage. Looking rather nice in her jeans and purple blouse. To Blaine's keen eye she appeared fit and someone who carried themselves with poise and quiet strength. Someone who was comfortable with who they were and didn't concern themselves with what others thought of them. She also appeared strangely displaced, or rather as if she was walking with her own bubble universe around her. And the only reason Blaine recognized the behavior was because she herself often employed it. Even now, sitting at her corner table dining by herself, observing the people from the inside of her own personal bubble. A kindred spirit, perhaps. She wandered while debating whether she should go up to the bar and attempt to socialize for real. Instead of just observe other people socializing.

A nugget of apprehension lodged itself in her stomach, unsettling the freshly deposited there Cajun fries and hot cocoa. Blaine swallowed with effort and shifted her gaze from the woman to the two men sitting at the bar. Then to Harkin who was busy doing his thing, but as soon as he saw his new customer some sort of recognition passed across his face and disappeared as he approached the redhead with a bottle of amber liquid in one hand. Blaine wrestled with the strange disappointment that overcame her. I mean, after all, this was a pub. People usually came in for a drink or two. She didn't mind those. What she disliked was people seeking senseless oblivion at the bottom of a glass. In her opinion it never lasted and once the euphoria of the alcohol wore off, the emotional whiplash was much worse than allowing yourself to fully feel what needed to be felt. But that was just her. She could not judge people for their coping mechanisms.

She realized she'd gotten up and was moving when she was almost at the bar and Harkin had just caught her eye.

"Need a refill, Chief?" He asked and peered into Blaine's blue eyes. A spark of recognition passed between the two of them as it always did whenever the old vamp and the Were Alpha looked at each other with searching eyes. He nodded as if in understanding. Blaine returned the gesture. "One hot cocoa coming right up." He declared and went about to prepare Blaine's beverage. What had transpired between them however had nothing to do with her ordering a refill of her drink. With that one look the two had related to each other the unsettled feeling both supernaturals harbored as of late.

Blaine leaned on the bar while she waited for Harkin to come back with her cocoa, lost in thought, trying to discern what was it that had the supernaturals in Salem so off kilter. So lost was she in her reverie that she didn't realize she was within touching distance with the woman who'd captivated her when she'd entered the pub.

"One hot cocoa as ordered." Announced Harkin placing the mug in front of Blaine pulling her out of her thoughts with a start. She jumped uncharacteristically startled and bumped into the redhead, almost making her spill her drink.

Blaine turned pink with embarrassment, but good manners forced her to look square at the woman and apologize. And once again she was captivated by her appearance full of interesting contradictions.

"I'm terribly sorry!" Blaine said, taking a step back. "This is why I don't sit at the bar." She offered a lopsided grin. "Too clumsy." She dialed down her grin to a small smile. "I hope I didn't manage to spill your drink." She kept here gaze firmly trained on the redhead's eyes even if she was tempted to let it roam over her body. Her eyes were green. No, grey. No, brown...? Hazel. Yes! That incredible eye color that had the ability to shift between different hews depending on various factors. "I'm Blaine Moore." She offered her hand to the stranger. "Again. I'm terribly sorry." She fell silent and awaited for her verdict.

---

Just as she was enjoying another drink of her whiskey and feeling the last bits of stress from the day melting away, she felt eyes upon her. It didn't bother her for the most part, and was even expected to a degree as this was a pub. As much as pub-owners wanted to make the distinction, they were really just a bar with better food. She thought for a moment on taking a glance out of her peripherals as to whose attention she acquired, but thought better of it. If they approached, they did. If not, then maybe she would actually have a quiet night for once.

Light conversation and movement from the other end of the pub caught her attention, and she took that glance. "Shit." Of course it was her. Who else would it have been? Carefully watching her approach from the corner of her eye and masking it with subtle sips of her drink, Genevieve took in her appearance a little more fully. Just comparing her with passing waiters she could see that she was roughly her own height, if not a smidge taller. Her walk was one of something that seemed either of confidence or absent-mindedness, it was hard to determine without turning to regard her fully just yet.

"Need a refill chief?"

Looked like it was the latter from the expression she made in reaction to Harkin, which made her wonder as to why she was approaching the bar to begin with. "No. No. No. Could you not." Too late, the woman was now leaning quite dangerously close at her side. Any closer and they would be rubbing shoulders, which was not what she had come to the Indo for. If it wasn't for the subtle hint of smoke and the overpowering smell of food in the air, she might have worried that the day's perfume would give her entirely the wrong idea. Just the ever so slightest hint of floral scents clung to her, something she became quite aware of and frowned deeply as it seemed quite clear now that her guest was looking to chat her up.

At the very least she was female, and so unlikely to be hitting on her. Wait. What if she was into women? That would be incredibly awkward, though from cursory glances Genevieve could tell that she could hold her own if it came down to a fight. An almost masculine frame, though that could very well be down to the musculature that made it very clear this woman worked out regularly. That was a slight relief, one that was very quickly overridden by the woman's startled reaction to the barkeep.

Genevieve's reaction was smooth and precise, moving her arm with the bump and tilting her glass ever so slightly to retain the liquid within. Following through she returned it back to its position on the bar and finally turned her head to lock eyes on her guest. Through that entire motion not a single drop was spilled from her own glass, the liquid gently swirling within. She endured the apology, though it was at least offered sincerely and it gave her an opportunity to study the woman a little more intensely without drawing scrutiny.

The eyes kept trying to draw at her, the radiance of their blue depths strangely enchanting so close up, reminding her of someone she knew before Salem. "I'm Blaine Moore" Her accent was interesting, and made it a little difficult for her to place immediately, hinting that perhaps this woman had traveled quite a bit. Genevieve glanced down at the proffered hand and without changing her rather stoic expression, calmly took it to shake it lightly. She wasn't looking to gauge her strength or to show off her own, merely end the formalities of this encounter as soon as possible, and being at least somewhat receptive before sending someone on their way had worked quite well at avoiding confrontation in the past.

"Genevieve Alleron."

Her pronunciation of her first name was quite distinctive, and likely equally unexpected. As much as she might have preferred to avoid it, she hated people mispronouncing her name more so. The syllables rolled off her tongue in a smoothness that said almost in the same breath that she was fluent in French as well as English. "May as well see how far I can take her for a ride on that." She thought to herself, thinking to indulge in a little bit of shenanigans and perhaps make herself out to simply be a foreigner. With only a bit of effort she shifted her accent more towards urban Parisian, just slight changes in pronunciation of key words made it seem all the more authentic.

"Not a drop spilled, so no harm done. No need to apologize more than necessary." Of course she had no idea that her first interaction with Harkin had been noticed, marking her out to be an obvious local, so the game was rigged from the start.

Blaine waited frozen in time and space almost for the woman to react and when she finally did she couldn't help but grin internally as if it was some sort of victory. She stared gratefully at the hazel eyes that were looking back at her. For a moment Blaine thought she saw something akin to recognition there, but she was positive she didn't know this woman. That, of course, didn't mean the woman didn't know who Blaine was. Interesting. If the redhead did know Blaine she didn't let on. Instead she grasped Blaine's hand and the two of them briefly shook hands.

And then she said her name and Blaine was momentarily transported back in time to when she lived with her aunt in New Orleans and spent her free time with Loup Garou learning to control her shifting and her were powers. As the years progressed her Irish accent gradually became more mild and Blaine started taking on the Cajun inflection of Loup Garou and most of his pack. She even learned to speak French fluently. Well, French Creole really. And right now she imagined her accent confused most people as it still retained her native Irish lilt, mixed in with the Cajun she adopted during her years in New Orleans.

Genevieve Alleron. Blaine repeated the name in her head. She also noticed Genevieve took great care to pronounce her first name with the correct French pronunciation. Well, I can understand how annoying it can be to have your name mispronounced. She thought. A small smile formed on her lips. I definitely won't be one of those people! And again there was that teeny-tiny sensation of victory. As silly as it was. And why was it so important all of a sudden to make a good impression on this stranger. Blaine didn't know. Whatever the reason she would finish this apology and leave the woman alone and not make a nuisance of herself. If having a drink alone at the bar wasn't a strong indication she didn't want company, what was?

"Genevieve..." Blaine took care to correctly pronounce the name subconsciously allowing the Cajun inflection to take precedence in her accent. "Nice to meet you. And I'm really glad I didn't manage to spill your drink." Another small smile graced her lips. This one almost bashful. "I'm also glad to see I'm not the only French speaker in Salem." Blaine stepped back. "But I've took enough of your time." She placed her right hand over her heart. "I will take my leave now and won't bother you anymore. Please, enjoy your evening." She made another step back. "It was really nice meeting you. Good evening." Her last words were spoken in French with her distinct Creole accent.

Blaine turned around and started for the door. "Thanks for the cocoa, Hark." She directed at the owner of the pub.

"Any time, Chief." Harkin shot back.

Blaine exited the pub with a grin on her face. She couldn't explain why she felt so exhilarated. Was it meeting this woman? Was this why she suddenly didn't feel the oppressive feeling from this morning pushing down on her neck constantly. Was the prospect of finding someone she might have something in common this appealing to her? It's not like she didn't have that. She had friends. A very few, true, but still. And besides, she wasn't a kid anymore. The prospect of possibly, maybe, making a new friend shouldn't have her be this goofy. And yet, here she was, sitting on her bike, keys in one hand, grinning like an idiot.

"Just go home, already." She ordered herself under her breath.

Now I'm really gonna need that run. She thought starting up the engine and shifting into gear.

Tom flipped over one of the cards. It was the Fool, to most who were watching it, it seemed like a funny coincidence but the reality was that he’d plucked the card with his telekinesis. “They are tarot cards. Used by fortune tellers to read the future. Supposedly they were created by the Egyptians originally but that’s a bunch of crap. The form that most people see and use them in is originally the purview of the Roma, which lends itself to that old Gypsy fortune teller myth. Course. Couple hundred years ago I’d have been hung simply for possessing them in this town.”

Rolling the card back over his fingers he tucked the card back into the deck. With this kid peering over his shoulder there was no way to actually read the cards. Picking up his Cider Tom drank deeply and wonder why this...he wasn’t sure. College kid? Had wandered over to sit down. If he was a member of the supernatural community Tom figured he must be a relatively new addition given that Tom had not met any new members of the Salem Hive yet. That or he was something else but given that Harkin hadn’t reacted to him it was clear that he wasn’t a vampire.

“So, what do they call you? I assume you’re a student of some sort?” Might as well figure out what the young man wanted. Especially if he was a supernatural. It crossed his mind for the briefest of moments that he could be a hunter and he was trying to determine if Tom was some sort of supernatural. Finishing his drink Tom finally decided that it he was being paranoid.

--

As he was talking to the young man Tom heard the door open and he turned so he could see out of the corner of his eye. Blaine maybe? Hear the strange order confirmed that it was in fact the carpenter in the flesh. Tom was familiar with the Alpha of the Salem pack, it was part of his job to be aware of potential threats to the Hive and while he’d never really engaged with Blaine he’d made sure he knew who the Alpha was.

Wrinkling his nose Tom absent mindedly one hand shuffled the cards as he listened to his unsolicited bar companion. The next person through the door he didn’t even bother to look at initially, that was until Harkin approached her, Tom shot her a sideways look. That was typically a good sign that the person was a regular or a player. Lovely she looked like a player, there must have been something in the air if everyone was coming out to play. The blood in the snow was still bothering him, turning over the cards again he flipped over the Tower and frowned. What was it that he wasn’t expecting? What foundation was about to collapse?

Fishing his phone out of his pocket Tom flipped open the ancient flip phone and tabbed through it to Tracy’s number. Pulling it up he started tapping away at the numbers typing out a text to the Hive leader: We need to talk. Meet soon? Sending it off Tom turned in time to see Blaine approach the woman sitting at the bar just down from him. Tom was not sure what to make of her but it was clear Harkin knew her which meant that at least she wasn’t going to try and harm anyone.

Tom flicked his eyes to the phone again waiting for a response from Tracy. There was a decided urgency to this, hopefully she wouldn’t be too long in responding.

Luke, shaking his leg and drinking his cider a little too fast, sat with building anxiety. Could it be from the arrival of more and more guests that brought a new, eery atmosphere into the familiar pub, or perhaps from the intimidation of the burly man that he chose to converse with. Nevertheless, Luke's gaze was fixated on the cards, listening carefully to the man's descriptive information of the tarot cards. His knowledge of them was extensive, and he spoke confidently, as if he studied the deck's origin. Still, he casted away all assumptions and chose to not place him blindly into the supernatural category. Luke's face remained blank, not looking up to look the man in the eyes from the growing fear that social anxiety brought.

Luke followed his attention to the newcomers of the pub, one seemingly familiar since she was an obvious regular, while the other sticking out of the crowd well, not just from her clear, asian heritage, but also the beauty that she held to catch Luke's eye. Luke took another sip from his cider, staring a bit too long at the approaching woman before she took a seat nearby. It was in Luke's nature that he was a bit of a player, trying his hand at all girls that he comes across and catches his eye. His attention returned to the man as he presented his question.

"Luke," he answered,"Luke Myers." With the raise of his glass, he continued to answer,"The best college student you'll ever find." He let out a cheeky smile followed by a chuckle.

Staring at the cards again and watching him shuffle threw them skillfully made him reconsider the passing thoughts of his potential supernatural descent, he returned the question,"And what do they call you? Are you retired?" The last bit was more or less a joke, but it is an appropriate question considering his age and the day drinking.

Luke couldn't help but peer over to look at his phone, trying to be as discreet as possible. It was the fact that it was an old flip phone that really caught his attention, but his nosy trait and his curiosity got the best of him. The font was incredibly small and the screen was small as well. The only words he could pick out was the name 'Tracy'. Luke quirked a brow and took another sip of his nearly empty glass. The tarot cards, the description he gave for them, the confidence he possessed while holding them, an old phone -- Tracy. Potentially the Tracy that Luke was familiar with himself.

"Damn, a flip phone? How old are you?" Luke joked, trying to come off friendly and without suspicion. While the question could be considered rhetorical, Luke had a genuine motive in wanting to know the man's age. It was then that Luke would turn his gaze to examine the features of his face, the wrinkles he possessed and any signs of aging, and to potentially look him in the eye. Warlocks and witches these days know how to keep their youth.

Day 1 - Tracy's Shop
Interacting with @Themerlinhawk's Tom Finch

The day seemed quite uneventful to Tracy, at least during the thirty minutes that she spent tending to the various flowers. Giving some a boost, giving some just a little water instead, something she specialized in doing. Not that she had any intention of showing the extent of that in public.

But that was the beauty of it. She didn't have to care much, because most days there simply was no public. A little boring, sometimes perhaps. She wasn't worried about money. There was more than enough to keep the place going, and maybe advance Grace into some form of higher education, and more to spare for others. Frugally, of course. From the corner of her eyes she saw Grace step back into the shop, looking much younger, and take a position behind the counter with a grumble as the girl leaned over the counter and perched her face up on two elbows. She'd have an attitude for a while. That was fine.

Tracy had to keep herself from jumping a little as she felt a buzz in one of the pockets tucked against her body. A... slightly cheated construct that wasn't the best fit with her wear, designed to blend into the dress. Designed for a phone that wasn't supposed to just go off like that. She still had difficulty getting into the 'phone' idea, and she'd had one for a few years now. She poked her hand against her side until it slipped into the little pocket, and pulled out the old flip phone with a screen she felt she could cover with her thumb. She hated trying to get something out of it. First it was reading it, then it was pressing the tiny dumb buttons. She successfully managed to open it and see the message without deleting it.
The witch grumbled as she stepped to an obscure corner of the shop for the task of reading whatever was on that phone. There was very few people who would send her a 'text message', and she could guess which one.

A talk. Hmm. If he wanted to talk, he could have just come over here and talked. Still, she navigated the buttons, fixing a typo and finding the question mark as she created the reply "shop?". It seemed as good of a place to her as any, unless he wanted her to meet at the inn. She would prefer not to leave Grace to her own devices for too long. She loved the girl like a daughter, but the messes that girl could get herself into without being watched...

---

Hearing the more pronounced accent caught her ear, the woman suddenly becoming more than just the average bar-irritant. No wonder she was having difficulty placing it, English was such a brutish language at times and had a habit of mangling proper pronunciation in favor for its own. Genevieve felt the ever so slightest hint of a smile forming as it seemed she found the ever so rare fluent French-speaker, though it didn't show. Strangely fortuitous for both of them it seemed, enough that it gave her enough pause to be slightly wary about this Blaine Moore.

So caught up in her reverie that her guest was gone as soon as the words had left her lips, leaving her quite off-guard for once. Did she actually want her to stay and talk? It was rather nice to hear her mother-tongue… No, that was incorrect. Her mother taught her Korean, it was her father who gave her French. All the same it reminded her of wintry days by the fire with a warm mug of cocoa and learning grammar. It was a good feeling, one that managed to turn a smirk as she glanced over the still warm mug on the counter next to her. She hadn't thought of her parents in years, talked to them in even longer.

Harkin was on his way to collect the wayward drink when she held a hand up to stop him. "You can put it on my tab, no need to waste it." Now that drew a curious look from the fanged bartender, him pausing in front of her as he regarded the significantly non-alcoholic beverage now sitting before her.

"It's a little less alcohol by volume than you usually go for, but I'm not going to dissuade you if you're paying for it." An economical vampire. As if there was any other kind.

Genevieve held him in place for a moment longer with a look that made it clear she had questions she was going to get answers to.

"That woman, Blaine Moore… I can tell she's a regular, what can you tell me about her?" Information needed for purely professional reasons of course. She was in the business of keeping the peace between supernaturals and humans in this town, and the Indo seemed to draw a good number of them by dint of the ownership being quite friendly to them. Harkin's toothy grin flashed as he leaned against the counter, refilling her glass of scotch and shrugging as if to disarm the obvious question masked within the spoken one.

"She's regular enough and doesn't cause trouble… Or misunderstandings." She had that one coming, it was rather hard to get over those when dealing with their kind. "So I don't ask questions. Can tell you she's a carpenter. Decent one at that, if you're in the need for some woodwork. Here's a card with her business information on it, but that's all I got for you otherwise."

The card was laid on the counter in front of her, just the basics of what someone would need to contact her for a job. Genevieve had this feeling that there was something rather significant that the vampire was leaving out, but couldn't quite pin it down. This woman had a peculiarness about her, from her bearing to the way her eyes seemed unnaturally sharp. Having been so close to their blue depths, she felt almost like prey, a thought that sent a chill down her spine. Was she losing her edge? It had been a while now since she went on a proper hunt, especially if the Harkin episode didn't count. Damn. She really was the worst hunter.

On that note, she downed the last of both drinks and took a moment to get a sense of her balance and motor skills. Having nursed the scotch for a good bit, she didn't even feel a proper buzz, though it would still be incredibly irresponsible to get in the driver's seat. A good walk would probably do her some good, the autumn air was especially nice in the evening and home wasn't that far away. She had walked longer distances anyways… Though it was with gunfire inspiring her to keep going. Not going to have a lot of that in Salem, even if things felt rather strange lately.

Genevieve exited the Indo, taking a moment to double check on her car and making a mental note to walk back in the morning for it. At least she didn't work tomorrow. One foot in front of the other, she steadily made her way towards the street, turning on the sidewalk and heading home. Things had become quite interesting of late, and perhaps it was finally time to get that desk fixed...

Blaine was driving home, the zing from the encounter in the Indo and the day's weird anxiety were waring in her gut, causing the most uneasy sensation. The bike ride no longer able to settle her nerves like it usually did. Still she kept to the speed limit and attentive driving even as Salem's traffic was spars, especially at this time of the day. By the time she reached her home she was a jumble of nerves. She stashed her bike in the tool shed and went inside her home in record time. She was out of her clothes and in pelt even faster, bounding for the nearing forest park.

Blaine felt so free running in pelt, the fire of the new encounter under her paws, the anxiety of the day still heavy in her belly. Her claws shot out and her speed increased making her a streak of snow white zooming between the brown of the tree trunks, chunks of dirt and fallen foliage flying in arks behind her. She had no set destination. She just needed to feel one with nature, allow herself to fall in her warm embrace and let the All Mother heal her. But still the feeling of unease persisted. Spurring her on and on faster and faster. She wasn't overly huge in her wolf form. Still she was bigger than some of the large dog breeds, but with the distinct wolf physiology. Perhaps the most striking of her wolf features were her eyes. The eyes of the Weres held a supernatural glow. And Blaine's shone even brighter against her snow white pelt. At moments she was almost surreal to look at. As if she'd stepped out of some fairytale. But she was real enough.

Her heart pounded in her wolven chest. Her nose wet with the plethora of scents. Her ears twitching and twisting to catch errant noises. Her snow beam form glided effortlessly between obstacles, trees and low shrubs. And still the anxiety haunted her. She stopped in a clearing and barely contained the urge to howl in frustration. It was not the time for howls. Still she allowed herself a soft snarl and puffed out a breath of air.

Suddenly her ears started twitching and twisting and turning like radio dishes. The scent hit her even before she heard anything. Vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place it. Which was strange since Blaine prided herself in her vast arsenal of known smells and scents. But this one eluded her. She knew it, yes, but from where or when she couldn't tell. There was also something else. There was a distinct foulness to it. And it was getting closer. Her ears started picking up the sounds of paw falls on the forest bed. Her danger sense kicked in, flooding her system with adrenalin. Something was coming for her or someone... Or multiple someones according to what her ears were telling her. She stood her ground. She was Were Alpha of Salem and she would not run from a fight.

As soon as she saw them, she knew something was not right with them. She also recognized the scent. It was that of the frenzied werewolf that had killed her family and turned her!

They charged!

Blaine roar-growled and threw herself into the fight.

The clearing and the surrounding forest filled with the sounds of primal battle. Angry growls. Frustrated yelps of pain. Heavy breathing. Bodies impacting against bodies. Angry snarls.

---

The soft reddening light of the setting sun shone between the turning leaves overhead, casting shadows through the woods as the woman walked home. Salem Woods was really more of an overly large natural park, but it was nice to have a bit of green in her backyard, especially as it helped keep a barrier between herself and her neighbors. Small suburban community as it was, she doubted anyone was going to be overly sociable when it was a school night. That meant peace and quiet, as soon as all the children made it back home. With the day coming to a close they would likely be trying to get as much time outside as they could.

Her idle thoughts shifted a moment to the card in her pocket, of the chance encounter and how that might fit into the change in atmosphere in Salem of late. To her everything was a potential threat, and it was all a matter of evaluating whether or not it was one to her or not. At times she did think that maybe it would help to relax a little bit, to let someone in and allow an actual friendship, but such thinking never benefit anyone in either lines of work she was in. Probably why so many of them became alcoholics. Now that drew a particularly nasty frown, Genevieve once more putting herself into a foul mood by overthinking things.

It was short lived though, as she had other things to occupy her thoughts beyond her own alcoholism and slight paranoia. A small part of her insisted on making that call in the morning, though she had to wonder when an appropriate time would be. Not everyone woke up at the crack of dawn, herself among those who chose to sleep in. That proved a viable enough distraction as she placed one foot in front of the other, steadily moving towards her home on Intervale and either Netflix or yet another terrible romance novel. Ah, the choices.

A sound from not too far away caught her attention before she could make that crucial decision. It was muffled through the ground-cover and distant sounds of evening traffic, but she recognized it immediately. Her body went cold instinctively, already light skin paling and her pupils dilating from that feeling of dread stirring within and her fight or flight response triggering. To anyone else it may simply sound like some feral dogs, maybe even stray wolves or coyotes. For someone with experience in the supernatural, it was distinctive and immediate. Werewolves. Not just one or two fighting for dominance, or not too uncommonly mating, but a good number of them brawling in what sounded like a life or death fight. To Genevieve, she felt first the paralyzation of her muscles, an unwillingness to move despite an intense need to get as far away as possible. Then almost falling over as they finally responded to her, leaving her braced against a tree and taking in deep breaths.

Breathe in… And out. Deep and steady breaths, slow the pounding in her chest. It was easier said than done, and took all of her focus to simply calm herself down from that first panicked moment and gather herself. Werewolves. In Salem. Of course there were plenty, a good number simply young mutts out to do what they did best, but she heard that the alpha was particularly experienced and deadly. As much as she wanted to simply turn the other way and let them fight it out to the death, she had a responsibility and couldn't let them just fight out in the open like this. The fewer people who knew about the supernatural, the safer they were.

That thought allowed her a small respite. Yes, she had a duty. She needed to steel herself and fulfill that duty. Slowly Genevieve stood, unsteady at first but soon enough she had her pistol in her hand and checked the safety. Ready to fire. The magazine popped out with a press of the release, allowing her to see the very reassuring silver of the hollowpoints sitting in the mechanism. Always prepared, always willing. It was time to intervene, whether she was ready to or not, so she put one foot towards the fight. That singular motion was enough to shake free the chains of fear, not completely but enough to loosen their binds and give her room to work with.

Genevieve moved with more and more purpose the closer she got to the brawl, seeing through the foliage a whirlwind of teeth and fur, claws ripping gouges out of whatever they sank into. One in particular was a fairly massive brute of jet fur, rippling muscle and sheer rage. She could see it in his eyes as he twisted to attack a smaller white werewolf. There was only primal fury in them, a need to destroy. Two others attacked with it, and at just a glance it was obvious the white one was the target of this attack, for what reason she didn't know and honestly didn't care. They were all about to get a bullet.

With confidence she strode from cover, pistol held forward and finger pulling the trigger. Silver wounded and usually killed werewolves, but any hunter knew that their most powerful weapons were two things. Experience, which imparted knowledge of the supernatural and how to destroy them, and confidence. More often than not, it was the latter that sent lesser threats running. She was counting on that as she put every ounce of her willpower into a powerful stride directly towards the brawl, flashes of igniting powder lighting up her determined face.

Her first shot impacted heavily against the flank of the largest, not that she was aiming for him specifically, but that he proved the largest target and biggest threat. The silver tip burned upon entry, dragging a howl of pain that twisted into sheer agony as the petals broke away and buried themselves deep in the muscle. A second shot skipped across the back of one of the smaller ferals, while her third and fourth knocked the last one out of the brawl completely as they bracketed the rib cage and left it laying in the dirt unmoving. Genevieve didn't stop moving even as her arrival was noticed, putting a fifth shot towards the white one for good measure and her eyes moving quickly from each of the remaining werewolves to see where the rest of her magazine was going to go.

What had started as a life or death fight between werewolves had suddenly escalated with the presence of a Huntress, and deadly silver slinging across the rapidly closing distance between them...