Chapter One: Soul

When Soul Evans first thought about moving to West Virginia, all he could wonder was what the fuck a 'West Virginia' even was. He thought he had a general idea where it was—farther down the east coast somewhere, presumably near the original Virginia—but overall, he had no idea what to expect. A cursitory Google search mostly just brought up a bunch of historical facts and nature-y things to do, which were mostly unhelpful, if a little too picturesque. The same sort of nonsense would pop up if he searched his home state of Maine. Unfortunately, that didn't give him a feel for what it'd be like.

What about the people? The culture? Which pizza was the best and what old creepy forest would he have to crawl into to find mothman? These were the questions he needed answers to; not where he could go bungee jumping or whitewater rafting. Not that he was against any of that...for other people. Solomon Ethan Evans was not an outdoorsman in any sense of the word, and that especially wouldn't change just because that was seemingly his only option for entertainment outside of his new job.

Speaking of, that was the whole reason he was even considering moving to the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. Some hot new jazz club, according to Wes. Exclusive, top-of-the-line, and apparently with a rotating theme every other week and an ever-changing password, it was every hipster blogger's dream. Frankly, it was kind of his, too. Getting paid top-dollar to play music in some swanky new club? He couldn't think of a better deal. Not to mention that he was never one for big cities in the first place. Social anxiety was one hell of a mistress - one that fucked him on the daily as it was.

Luckily for him, Wes had connections. Well, technically Soul had connections, too. Anyone that knew Wes knew Soul and visa versa, but this particular connection was an old flame of Wes'–one that stuck around long enough to hear Soul play and like his music. When he reached out, wondering if Soul was looking for a job that would get him six states and almost 900 miles away from his parents, how could he do anything but start packing his bags? It took a little doing, to find a place to live that wasn't either outrageously expensive or literally falling apart at the seams, but he managed to find a nice little two bedroom apartment above the town's diner. Once all the technicalities were said and done, he was on the first plane to the Mountain State.

Arriving in the little town was about as underwhelming as he expected. Looking all the world like a ghost town, he almost would have pegged it as one if he didn't know any better. The view from his second story window didn't do anything to prove him wrong, either. Empty streets, abandoned shops, faded and peeling paint. If he squinted, he thought he could see at least a little bit of life on main street, but he wasn't optimistic. How in the hell did a nightclub have any hope of surviving out here when it looked like civilization didn't stand a chance? Well, it was too late to back out now anyway. The closest airport was well over two hours away at best, and the drive out here made Soul nauseous enough that he didn't want to attempt to venture outside of it for at least a week. That being said, he supposed the only thing he could do is start unpacking and maybe go down to the diner below and grab a bite, if he was feeling adventurous.

The club's big debut wasn't for another few days, and even then he wasn't expect to play the first night. Maybe he could play around with some music, figure out a set list or two. He needed to find something to occupy enough of his time that he wouldn't go crazy.

While he wasn't one much for the outdoors or big crowds, Soul was still a man who liked to get out of the house, and judging by the looks of this place, he wouldn't be doing much of that. Which, under normal circumstances, he'd bear it with a tight-lipped grin and maybe some music at full blast, but just walking around the place didn't give him much of a homey feeling, and he was sure throwing around a couple t-shirts and loose music sheets could change it. Brightside, though, was that he had a balcony.

He wanders over to check it out, and after literally wrestling the door open, he finds that it isn't much. But, going by the rest of the town, 'not much' was probably their motto. It's something, at least, and he braces his hands against the railing to lean out a little and really take in that 'fresh' air.

Until the old metal gives out and nearly sends him careening three stories down. Luckily, he catches himself on the piece still intact, heart racing as the metal clangs against the sidewalk down below.

Okay, so the balcony was officially off limits. Fantastic.

Oh, and to top it off, his cell service sucked.

After spending a solid two hours unpacking, Soul decides that he doesn't care to unbox everything. The essentials are out, of course: his music equipment, basic hygiene products, scattered clothes, and exactly a week's worth of dishes. What else could he need? Especially considering he wasn't even sure if this job would take off. No need in getting settled only to pack up and head home the next week.

After deciding all of this, he'd given a valiant attempt to get his shit together, job-wise, and get to work on his setlist, but every time his fingers brushed piano keys or hovered over the strings of a guitar or violin, he drew a blank. Nothing, nada, zilch. He tried to reason that he was tired, but even a nap didn't get the proverbial juices flowing.

By then, it was already nine, and a glance out his window showed that the town was just about as dead as it was in the middle of the day. That being said, real food was out of the question, but he figured it wouldn't hurt anything to go on a walk. That always helped him, gave him the chance to wander and let his mind do the same, and there was the added bonus that his chances of running into anyone were slim to none.

He dutifully locks up behind him as he leaves, despite the underlying knowledge that the people here probably didn't lock their own doors, and takes off down the street, hands buried in his jacket pockets. It's quiet, more so than he'd ever experienced, and he pauses in the middle of an intersection just to see if there was anything to be heard.

Distantly, he thought he could hear the faithful motor of a vehicle or two, and about a block away he could make out the sound of the bar's jukebox blaring. The best way to meet anyone here would probably be to head over there, and for a second he truly considers it, even takes a god honest step in the right direction, but he doesn't take that leap of faith. Instead, he turns on his heel and slumps off in the other direction, Wes' voice a chastising whine in the back of his mind.

Yeah, it'd be easier to meet everyone that way, but would Wes have considered the idea that Soul simply didn't want to meet them? Of course not, his brother was never one to understand the inner workings of someone as 'hopelessly introverted' as Soul, but at least he wasn't here to make him feel bad about wandering the town in the middle of the night.

Once he'd gotten over whatever weird pseudo-guilt his brother's influence had wrapped him in, Soul had finally allowed himself to get lost in the sound of the crickets and the scuff of his shoes on the sidewalk, found that place inside of himself where the music thrived like a living thing. Unspooling the bars, spinning the notes around his fingers like keyrings and flipping the flats across his knuckles like coins. On the outside, he probably looked at least a little insane, hands dancing to a tune only he could hear, painting an image only he could see, but on the inside?

On the inside, there was nothing but beauty, an endless ocean of symphonies with waves of crashing crescendos, a galaxy of glittering ballads and swirling songs. He pauses at a darkened street corner, the light overhead nothing more than a dying orange, too weak to light anything. Soul taps at his phone's screen, still no service, and starts copying down his ideas, not wanting to forget anything before he can make it back to his apartment.

He feels a cold chill snake down his spine, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, and he shakes his shoulders to try to rid of the feeling. It wasn't cold out by any means, maybe even a little too hot for late August, and he tosses a furtive glance over his shoulder, if only to quell the nagging in the pit of his stomach screaming danger.

There's nothing out of the apparent ordinary; a little coffee shop, faded lawn chairs perched on it's porch, and an old brick building that he thinks was once an antique shop. A glance the other way just shows the town's only gas station and a dumpy little car wash. Soul shakes out his shoulders again, warding off the distinct feeling of being watched, and continues on down the road. He cracks his neck, stretches his arms above his head, tries to get back in the groove of creativity.

Okay, good. It slowly comes back to him, bits and pieces, scattered melodies and lone notes, but it's a start. He just has to pick up where he left off. His fingers tap against his pant leg, a silent beat, nothing other than his own steady footsteps.

Then, a rock rolls out of the darkness ahead.

Soul freezes in place, feels that cold sweat come back with a vengeance as he stares at that piece of gravel, maybe half the size of his fist. Sitting there, innocently, half an inch from the toe of his shoe. He swallows thickly, peers into that darkness, and dimly thinks that it looks much darker than it had a moment before.

"Uh," he clears his throat, tries to sound as unafraid and imposing as possible. "Hello? Who's there?"

The darkness doesn't answer, unsurprisingly. There's nothing but the whisper of the wind, and he starts to think that maybe he just psyched himself out. It could've been just an animal, a raccoon or something, and it hit the rock when he got too close. Yeah. That's a perfectly plausible explanation that he'll cling to. Maybe watching a bunch of old slasher flicks on the flight over wasn't the best idea he'd ever had, but he'd live.

'Probably,' that voice in the back of his head said, and he had to swallow a laugh at his own foolishness. Getting himself all worked up over a rock, of all things. With a derisive snort, he kicks the rock back the way it came, deciding that he needed to just call it a night and head home.

He turns around to find a mouth full of teeth, sharp, too many, a smile too wide, and he doesn't have time to scream before it descends upon him with a hungry snarl.

Soul comes to sometime later with a weak groan, his throat a desert, tongue nothing more than a dune. His mind is foggy and when he tries to look around, there's nothing but darkness. Was it still dark out? Or something worse? He tries to move, finds a weight atop him. Something moving, alive, and that's when he realizes that the steady groan isn't coming from him at all. He croaks something, maybe a cry for help, and the weight eases.

Teeth. Just like before, sharper than sharp, no longer white but dripping with red. The full lips framing them pull into a wicked smile. "Nice of you to join me," she purrs, unworldly blue eyes shining in the dark. Tongue darts out, swipes the red from her lip. "Sorry for starting dinner without you." She caresses his cheek, fingers ice cold, chilling him to the bone. He flinches, a whimper building in his throat unbidden. "But you just smelled so delicious, I couldn't help myself."

"Puh-please-" His teeth chatter, heels slipping against the bed of pine needles, hands digging into the earth despite his arms feeling like dead weight. The woman, the thing above him chuckles, her hand coming to rest on his chest, just above his heart. His blood feels like ice in his veins, sluggish slush that made his very bones feel tired.

"Begging doesn't become you," she says, almost pityingly, before cracking her neck and descending upon his once again. Her teeth sink into his flesh, his every nerve lighting on fire with a shower of sparks that dances behind his eyelids, and he tries to squirm away. It's a weak attempt, but even so, she presses her palm to his forehead and presses him down into the dirt. Her hair is so long, he can feel it wrapped around his fingers, and he gives it a defiant tug, even as that ice in his veins solidifies and darkens the corners of his vision.

Her lips leave his neck with an annoyed sigh, glowing blue irises cutting to his face, sharper than her teeth. She bares them in his face, blood trailing from the corners to drip from her chin and onto his. He flinches as each drop hits his skin, molten against the chill. He whispers babbling pleas, unsure of what he says just knowing he needs to say it. Tears slip from the corners of his eyes, fall to the forest floor. He thinks of his parents, of Wes. Feels his heart break at the thought of them hearing that he died-if they heard that he died.

Soul's lips keep forming the shape of the words, but he's already relaxed into the cold earth, the fight leaking from his veins just as steadily as his blood. The woman still stares at him, her outline illuminated by the moon peeking through the trees. There's still fear in his heart, sleeved over his muscles, but it's a dull thing now. Now, he's just tired, genuinely sleepy, each blink slower than the last. Still, he watches her through hooded lids, determined to be his own final witness. But, as he watches her, something...strange happens.

A shiver runs down her spine, and she suddenly sits ramrod straight, glowing blue eyes blinking rapidly, as if coming out a haze. Her head whips from side to side, checking her surroundings, before finally falling to him. If at all possible, she seems to grow paler.

"Oh my god."

She's horrified, eyes wide, her hands clasped over her mouth. Hesitantly, she reaches down to feel his pulse-on the side of his neck she hadn't ruined-and her breath catches when she confirms that he's alive, if only barely. "Oh my god," she repeats, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." Over and over, panicked. If he couldn't feel his heart's painfully sluggish beating, he'd maybe even feel sorry for her.

As she breaks down, hands threaded into her hair, Soul watches as the darkness coalesces behind her, blotting out the moon. Deliriously, he wonders if it's death, come to whisk him away, but the bone-white hand that reaches from that darkness doesn't come for him, instead landing heavily upon the woman's shoulder.

She freezes, statuesque. A voice floats around them, as if unattached to whoever-or whatever- the shadows were. "Tsk, tsk, tsk." It seems to mock. "Killing a human is illegal, fledgling."

"I didn't mean to," she whispers. "I don't know what happened." She still doesn't move, hands fisted in her hair so tight it's a wonder she doesn't rip it out.

"Do you really think Kid will care?" Another hand materializes out of the shadows, grips her other shoulder. "One of his own, breaking a cardinal rule. He'll have to make an example of you."

"No," she whispers, meeting Soul's murky stare.

"Perhaps, he'll even punish your maker." There's a smile in it's tone, as if the thought pleased it. "Her prodigy, murdering right here in town, on wolf territory, no less." A strangled gasp escapes the woman, tears slipping down her face, pearlescent in the dim moonlight. "What about your dear sister? A precaution, to be sure. How could he let the whole poisoned bloodline live without consequence?"

Finally, she thaws, whirling to face the darkness, still on her knees. "Please." There's something in her voice that pleases the shadows, the darkness spooling into something resembling a man with too many appendages. The woman gasps, falling back on her ass. "No, no. You're not here." She reaches for her hair again, but those hands snatch her wrists.

"Oh, child," it croons. "That's what they've wanted you to believe." It yanks her to her feet, draws her close to it's swirling gloom. One of the hands caresses her cheek, heedless of the way she flinches back. "Come with me, and I can make this all go away."

She sends a furtive glance at Soul, sees the dirt beneath his head darkened with his blood, watches his fingers twitch weekly, as if he wanted to reach out to her. She looks back into that abyss and nods frantically, agreeing to it's terms.

Teeth, just like the ones Soul faced on the street, bloom out of the murk in a pleased smile. "It shall be done."

Two fingers of one ivory hand curl. Soul chokes, blood gurgling past his lips as his throat tears itself open, and he watches as the woman is swallowed into the living night, before he finally gives into his own darkness.