CH. 1

December 11th 2019

The world had been bled of all color as winter slowly constricted the life from the autumn woods. Grey and white and mud brown dominated the landscape. A figure clad in inky black stood in the dreary afternoon light, a void in the foggy lakeside scene. They stood looking out on the slowly freezing lake shore, not quite daring to step out of the shelter of the fur forest.

Althea watched from the depths of the woods, knowing full well they knew she was there. They were not the average person, they were not a person at all. She pulled the maroon scarf she wore closer to her neck and took a step forward, deliberately stepping on a small branch. The snap echoed in the silence. The figure never moved, statuesque in it's devotion to stillness. Steeling herself she made her way to stand next to the unmoving figure.

"You look lost," She said her voice was incredibly steady, surprising herself. She stopped so she was directly next to the dark figure. She didn't dare to look at them, the lake was a safer thing for viewing.

"It appears that I am." He spoke softly, slowly, with a gravel to his voice she didn't expect.

"And where are you headed?" She asked. He wasn't lost, he was exactly where he was suppose to be.

"I am not lost physically," he said dryly. He shifted so he could look at the human he and his brethren hunted. She paid him no mind and continued staring out at the vacant lake. She was not what he had expected. She was tall and dark, her hair was the same shade as the soggy ground beneath their feet, though her eyes were the color of summer honey, rich and warm and suddenly staring directly at him. She didn't blink, her face was an unwavering mask devoid of any telling emotion. Her eyes narrowed by the slightest fraction of a millimeter before she abruptly turned around and started walking the same way she had come.

"You should follow me," she said, not bothering to look behind her.

June 24th 1990

"You've no idea what you've done!" Serena Bradbury growled as she flew up the stair of the old plantation house where she had been residing. It seemed she had worn out her welcome, along with the minor protection it had afforded her.

"Sery, please, I am sorry." A flash of vibrant color whisked by Serena and came to a stop in front of her.

"Mary, get out of my way," Serena barked pushing the redhead to the side. She continued up the stairs and to the second door on the long landing. She pushed it open, flicking the light on as she did. The room wasn't large, a bed stood against the wall closest to her, its blankets still in disarray from the night before. Next to it, sitting under the large paned windows was a pristine white crib.

"Serena, please, I am so sorry," Mary, the redhead, followed her into the room.

"Mary," Serena stopped in her tracks and turned to face the other woman. "I don't doubt your remorse in any way, but let me make this very clear. You have put my family in danger. My daughter. That baby cannot survive without me and you told the only person on this planet who could be a bigger threat than them!"

Mary's crimson eyes were so wide Serena feared they may pop right out of her head. She looked crushed to be sure but there was still a feral disobedience to the young vampire that left Serena distrustful. She pulled the old leather bag she used from under the bed and quickly began packing her things. Her clothes, the baby's clothes, a few toys, formula, baby food, and a small supply of herbs and candles. When Serena stood up from pulling the last box of candles from under the crib Mary was standing directly behind her.

"I can't let you leave, Serena." She said, her eyes full of emotion. She was scared. It never boded well when a vampire was scared. "Lilith made it very clear." Lilith was the leader of the coven that had taken over the plantation. Luckily for her they had all gone hunting, leaving little Mary to watch over Serena and her baby. Serena had trusted this Coven, they had known her great, great grandmother, they were supposed to be safe.

"Like hell," Serena reached into her top and pulled out a silver medallion the size of her palm. A quick latin phrase caused the medallion to glow with a gentle yellow light. "Move Mary."

"Sery, please…"

Serena pulled her arm back and slammed the medallion into the center of Mary's chest. The vampire cracked with the force and flew backward, hitting the wall on the other side of the hall. A wail rose up from the crib behind Serena, the sound of the violent hit had woken the baby.

"Oh, shhh," Serena picked up the squalling child and held her tightly to her chest. "It's okay, Althea, we'll figure it out." She threw the bag over her shoulder and walked quickly out of the room. Mary made a move to get up from the crevice she had created in the wall but Serena flashed the Medallion in her direction and kept walking. She trotted down the stairs and out the front door, not bothering to close it behind her. Once again, her entire life was unceremoniously packed into a station wagon and rolling down the highway.

March 22nd 2018

Althea Bradbury sat like a chilled cat, legs pulled up to the side and tucked into the cushions of the chair, a pale yellow cardigan clung to her arms and pooled in her lap. A steaming, near-gallon sized, cup of coffee was held between her hands, red painted nails tapping along to an unheard song. Her eyes wandered lazily across the landscape before her, all sparkling, pristine white canvas. A smile curled the corner of her lips and she let her eyelids fall shut.

Years of running, years of hiding, years of dread tightened muscles and worry born headaches. It was all over. Grief still clung to her like oil saturated paint but with each day her vision got brighter. Her mother, despite all her faults, had been the only person in the world to understand every nuance of Thea. Her absence shook the core of her, crumpled the edges, but did not break it. Serena Bradbury had died in the most ordinary way possible. The wild woman, The Westerling Witch, Serena Irene Bradbury, had suffered a ruptured aneurysm at the age of 45. Ordinary mortal circumstances had killed her invincible mother. It was that tragic event that made Althea realize that she too was mortal. That she could run to the ends of the earth and it wouldn't matter. They would either find her, and she would die, or she would eventually just… die. She didn't wish to spend the rest of her mortal life running from some murky threat.

So she packed her things, threw a dart at the map, and left. She left behind the notion that her abilities made a difference. Left behind her mothers overbearing protection. She left behind her wards, the silver threads woven together to keep her invisible to red eyed hunters. She would live freely.

The tiny town of Laurel Hollow, Wisconsin rested snugly into the dripping cliff sides of Lake Michigan. It was a charming fishing village complete with little pastel houses neatly stacked along the shore, each one more cliche than the next. The highway swayed down the coast line, tipping dangerously close to the emotional waters of the lake. Everything here was surreal and dreamlike, even the towering light house that stood like a sentry on the other side of the harbor. By some heavy handed push of fate Althea had found a cabin for rent before she had even checked into her hotel room. It was outside of the towns epicenter, no pastel clapboard here, there was wild magic growing in ancient fur forest that cradled the small building. It catered to her more reclusive nature, she was hidden, but on her own terms. Through the tall standing trees in the backyard the yawning waves of the lake could be seen, thrashing, white capped tongues licking the rocky shore.

Althea stared at that lake now, mesmerized by the sheer endlessness of its expanse, now frozen and cloaked in starchy snow. The early morning sun shimmered and glared off the flakes, casting spiraling rainbows into the air. Somewhere in the front of the house her alarm went off, it was 7:30 am she had an hour and a half to get ready for her job. Something she had never had before. She was a waitress, a prerequisite in almost everyone else's lives, but not hers, if allowed she might make a career of it. She loved greeting the morning regulars, their chatter, their warm smiles, learning simple things about them. How they took their coffee, the names of their children and grandchildren. She tried to stay as aloof as possible, kind, but guarded, she wanted to live a normal life, as normal as she could, without dragging other people into it with her. She didn't want people to mourn when one day she was a headline of their local paper. "Woman Found Dead in Laurel Hollow, No Leads." They wouldn't even be able to find a picture of her.

Pushing the depressing thoughts aside she stretched her legs in front of her and wiggled her toes. They were painted a bright blue instead of red, but nobody saw them. She leisurely made her way to the kitchen, stopping briefly to sprinkle a pinch of fish food into the tank that sat behind her couch. She had volunteered at the local animal shelter for a few months before admitting defeat, she wanted to bring home every animal that came through the doors, especially a milky-eyed cat with half his ear missing. She promptly quit her volunteering, headed for the closest Walmart, and settled on a handful of goldfish. Her first pet.

She put her cup in the sink and made a beeline for the bathroom. It was small, the house, all the rooms were a continuous space, the kitchen connected to the living room, which connected to the bathroom and bedroom. The bathroom was small too, two straight lines down the room. One side was the sink and toilet the other the bathtub. She ran her brush through her hair and pulled it to sit atop her head in a ponytail, brushed her teeth, and scrubbed the excess oil from her face. She wasn't what she considered ugly, looking at her bare face in the mirror. She was incredibly average she supposed. Her mother always told her a fire lived in her eyes; just as dark as her hair. Her nose was too angular for her round face but she had somehow avoided scarring from her adolescent and adult acne. Satisfied that she wouldn't scare any of her customers she pulled the uniform she was expected to wear from the hanger and threw it on.

The small diner she had wormed her way into was a surprisingly busy place. The man who owned it was surly until you got to know him, he was blunt, but caring. He had given her the waitress job without even looking at her resume, all entirely made up, simply because he was so busy and she had started busing tables without being asked. Three months later she was comfortable enough to open the diner when Lance wasn't in town.

It was maybe a 10 minute drive to town, the road was slick with fresh snow but it did little to hinder Althea's steady pace. It was truly like driving into a painting, the entire town was still asleep tucked under the puffy quilt of excess white. Even the plows had not been through to eat up the snow from the streets. She parked in front of the diner and trudged through the snow, delighted to hear the jingling of the bell above the door. Lance was already making coffee and heating up the grill. The smell of the dark roast he kept especially for his coffee obsessed wife rolled through the room, almost visible.

"Morning, Lance!" She yelled as she ducked into the back room, removing her jacket and boots as she went. A muffled harrumph was the only reply. She tied the apron she wore around her waist and pulled one of the overused order pads from the tray that hung on the wall. She sauntered back onto the floor and started flipping chairs off the tables, placing them on the ground with echoing clinks. Everything about the diner was eclectic, none of the chairs or tables matched, even the stools that ran along the counter space were all different.

"Where are your shoes?" Lance asked, leaning over the counter. He held the top of the display case they kept the muffins in. Althea glanced down at her feet, the white crew cut socks not looking as white as they once did.

"We're not open yet?" Althea shrugged but made her way back to the store room to fish her sneakers out from behind the boxes of coffee.

Lunch hour rush behind her Althea leaned against the counter, picking at plate of fries the cook had set aside for her.

"Can I get a napkin?" One of the local regulars yelled out from the counter top.

"They're right in front of you Ken!" Althea shouted back, shaking her head.

"Oh."

May 15th 2018

Althea basked in the brilliant spring sun, she had moved the old recliner she found on the side of the road to the small porch that came off the back door. It was just big enough for the chair, a table full of newly sprouted herbs, and a small stand that held a glass of iced tea. It was her day off and she planned to lay in this chair, in the sun, all day. She cracked open a Danielle Steel novel and settled into the chair. The air still held a chill, especially when the clouds rolled in to obscure the warm sun, so a light quilted blanket was tucked around her shoulders. Sometime between the last sip of iced tea and the next chapter of her book Althea fell asleep.

Light flashed past her eyes in blinding bursts, flickers of lightning, stark and white. Groaning, Althea dragged her hand across her face, trying to block out the light. She rolled her head to the right and her forehead connected with cool glass. Her eyes snapped open and she jerked upright. She was in the backseat of a vehicle, her vehicle, and it was barreling down a tree lined highway. She blinked, trying to grasp the concept of what was happening. Her eyes finally locked on the driver. Her mother.

"Mom?" No answer. Althea leaned forward. Serena kept driving, her eyes never leaving the road. "Mom."

She tried to lean forward again but something constricted around her chest, her seat belt. She looked for the trigger to let it go, a creeping panic rising up her spine. She managed to push the button hard enough to release the belt but when she looked up again she wasn't in the car. She was seated at a long table in a dark room, candles were the only light source. A woman sat at one end, a man at the other. They were slowly spooning thick soup into their mouths. In the corner, barely visible, was a young girl, maybe 13, her face was obscured by the flickering shadows but her leering eyes were a dripping crimson color. She shifted her weight and soft clinking of chains could be heard. The panic rose further up her spine as the scene changed again. This time she was in the hot summer sun in the middle of a courtyard. Everything was a searing bright sepia color. A fountain stood in the middle of the plaza, its pulsing waters a promise of relief from the heat. A scream echoed from behind her, a tower loomed over head and three black crows took flight from the precipice of it. Panic and fear rolled together and Althea fought back her own scream. The scene changed again, she stood in the middle of some primeval forest, all green and misty, moss covered and damp. The total opposite of the last vision. A snap from behind her made her jump and turn around where she was faced with an facsimile of herself. A mirror? No this Althea wore the robes of a priestess, glowing and white. Priestess Althea pressed her finger to her lips, smiling kindly, she reached out and took her counterparts hand, leading her through the dense forest. They finally stopped at a pool of water, fed by a trickling stream. The silent Althea motioned to the water, letting go of real Althea's hand, she was unusually cold. Althea stepped forward casting a weary glance to her still smiling dream-self. She leaned over the pool, catching her reflection. She looked completely normal, her hair swept up into a ponytail, hanging over her shoulder as she leaned forward, her face twisted in confusion. Without a sound a dark shadow appeared over her shoulder, she gasped and spun around losing her footing on the water logged banks of the pool. As she fell backwards in comedic slow motion, arm's pinwheeling for some sort of purchase, she saw the shadow, ominous and black, reaching for her.

Althea gasped for air as she shot upwards in the recliner, her legs hung over each side of the raised footstool grounding her to the weather worn porch, her novel flung into the reaches of the back yard. Her hand rested against her chest as her breathing came in short, desperate blasts. Sweat trickled down her neck and to her back. With an anguished sigh she gathered her blanket and empty glass, the novel forgotten. She checked her phone after throwing the blanket on the couch and the glass into the sink, it was 2pm, she had been asleep for four hours.

Her arms felt heavy and useless, her head throbbed with a tension headache. Sighing she opened the fridge and pulled out a container of green leafy things. She pulled the tea kettle from the back of the stove and filled it before placing it back on the range and lighting the burner. The soft tic, tic, tic, woosh of the gas lighting calmed her nerves some. She pulled a small round diffuser from a drawer and packed some of the mint leaves into it, along with chamomile and lavender extract. She plunked the diffuser into the large cup she usually reserved for her coffee and waited for the water to boil.

She had started having incredibly vague, disorienting dreams when she was 13. Everything was full of wild, chaotic colors at first, then the colors took shapes and shapes became vivid landscapes. The dreams always ended up meaning something. Like illustrations to some untold story that ran parallel to her own. She didn't know the people or places but she would always see them on the news a few weeks later. When she told her mom she promptly sat her down and started weaving even heavier ward spells around her. She would feed her a tea that made her feel light headed at first, but happy after the dizziness dissipated. It never occurred to Althea that the dreams would resurface when she burned her mother's wards away.

Sept. 25th 2018

Althea sipped quietly at the coffee Lance had sat in front of her. It was 5am, Althea had been awake since three and still wasn't functioning at full steam. They were preparing the diner for the Firelight Festival, an entire weekend of drunken reveling around a raging bonfire in the town square. Totally safe.

"You okay?" Lance asked gruffly. Normally Thea would have been bounding around the diner setting decorations up. She and Regina, Lance's wife, had overhauled the table space, creating giant center pieces of autumnal foliage that Lance had threatened to throw into the bonfire several times.

"Yeah, no!" Thea shook her head and sat up straighter. "I'm just tired." The shadow had been invading every dream she had, good, bad, or otherwise. It would lurk in the corners, loom over her shoulder, and sometimes that's all her dreams consisted of. A dark, vaguely human shaped shadow that stood in front of her. It wasn't threatening but she felt a distinct aura of danger whenever it was near. She would wake up sweating and panting like she had ran a mile and could never get back to sleep.

"That's what the coffee is for." Lance pointed out. Thea nodded and took another drink of the rich, black, coffee. She set it down and made her way to the backroom to change. She knew the diner would be busy in a short while, the amount of people that came out of the woodwork for this town's monthly festivals always surprised her.

Three hours later the entire diner was invaded by locals and visitors alike. A group had pushed three tables together, giving Lance a near coronary, no one was sure why but he was very particular about the tables. Lance's daughter, Amy, was home from college for the weekend, thankfully helping Thea wait tables.

"Order!" Yelled the cook from the kitchen window, Althea zigzagged through the customers, avoiding Regina who was carrying a tray of drinks. She picked up the plates for her order and ran them back to their table. As she went people called out to her, saying hello and waving. She smiled, absorbing the atmosphere. She placed her plates on the table, exchanging pleasantries with the customers. She glanced around the entirely full house, looking for empty plates, none were to be found. She flitted back to the backroom and fell against the cooler with a sigh.

"You aren't dead yet?" Amy asked brightly, she had Redbull in one hand, a danish in the other.

"Excuse me?" Thea blinked at the statement, the sentiment ringing in her ears.

"You know, the festival, all the people?" Amy looked at Thea with concern.

"Oh yeah, right," Althea shook her head and smiled weakly at her own paranoia. "No, not yet, though I think my feet might be!"

"Oh my god, I know, right?" Amy perked up and took another drink. "I so wish Dad and Regina would let me leave before the festival is over."

"I can cover for you," Althea said laughing. "We usually slow down about six anyway."

"Seriously?!" Amy screeched excitedly. "I love you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Amy squeezed Thea in a tight hug and made a quick escape from the backroom, pastry and drink still in hand. Althea took the moment of silence to realign herself with her reality. All of these people, Amy, Regina, Lance, they were her friends. She had failed at the most basic task she had set out to achieve. No one should mourn her. Yet here she was; happily greeting the townspeople like she had lived here her entire life. Agreeing to plans with Regina that she'd never intended to keep. Tears welled in her eyes and a knot of self disgust and anger formed in her throat. This was not the plan.

Nov. 1st 2018

"What do you mean, you quit?" Lance said, his mouth hanging open like Althea had just smacked him. "You can't quit!"

"Lance please, this is hard enough for me," Althea couldn't look him in the eyes, she held the white apron out to him, begging him to take it.

"What is going on, you've been in another world for the last month," Lance followed Althea as she tried to make an escape to the back room. She had to get her extra shoes and coat.

"I'm fine," Althea pushed past Lance and headed for the front door.

"No, you're not fine, fine people don't just up and leave their job." Lance had followed her into the empty dining room, a dirty dish towel draped over his shoulder. Althea turned around and looked at him. He was leaning on one of the tables, his faded blue baseball cap was on backwards as usual, his graying hair escaping behind his ears. His eyes were full of concern.

"Fine, its this Lance!" Althea poured every ounce of venom she could into her words. "I can't keep this up, I'm overworked and underpaid, tips hardly even pay rent! This ridiculous little town is just not what I want. I'm leaving!" It was all a lie, she loved this town, and she had enough inheritance to live on for the next 100 years. It had its desired effect though. Lance visibly flinched at her accusation that he wasn't paying her enough. His entire demeanor changed and Althea immediately regretted her choice of insults. She turned on her heel and stormed out the door before Lance could react anymore. The chiming bells rang hauntingly in her ears as she slammed the door. She threw her things and then herself into her car, shut the door, and let the tears fall down her face.

December 10th, 2018

Althea stood in the center of darkness. No matter which way she turned she could not see an ounce of light. Not above, not below, not spinning in endless circles. There was no sound. No feeling. It was like being suffocated by velvet blankets.

Light flashed to her left. Quick bright bursts of white light that produced jerking images like strobe lights in a haunted house. The lights, the images crept closer until she was standing directly in front of them. It was her, or Dream Althea as she now referred to her. She had become a regular specter in her dreams, all mute and pale. The image was flipping from Dream Althea standing in front of her, stony faced and robed in white, her hand outstretched, palm facing her, as if to stop traffic. A wind, unfelt by Althea, blew her hair away from her face and shoulders. Seconds later it was Dream Althea, hands now limp at her sides, her white dress stained black by fresh blood, her eyes empty and unblinking. A long gash split her throat from side to side. Behind her the Shadow stood, their hands dripping with Dream Althea's blood.

The image disappeared. Instead the flickering strobes caught the image of another cloak, just as black as the shadow, only this one did not exude the pure evilness the Shadow did. They stood with their back to Althea, hood drawn to cover their face. The shadow appeared again, brandishing its bloodied claws at the new figure who grabbed hold of the shadow and ripped its wispy cloak apart. The thing scratched and clawed at the other figure, dissipating as it did so.

Althea jerked out of her dream with a wheezing gasp, eyes wide, heart racing. It was close. She was close to meeting her end.