Holly watched the people in the bar move across the room, as she always did on a Friday night. Sat there, and watched, waiting.
Waiting for what, she didn't know.
She knew she was waiting for something, or someone. This dark, foreboding feeling had consumed her thoughts ever since that night her parents had been killed. It sat in the back of her mind, growing deeper every day, filling her with feelings of caution and anxiety.
So she sat in the bar, under the dim glow of the gas lamps, to drink the pain away.
Not that Holly drank a lot- she was 19, barely underage, but the bartender seemed to fall for her fake ID the first time, so she was in the clear. The alcohol just seemed to soothe her thoughts a little, and take the edge off of things. It made her forget the memories of the screams.
The loud chatter of the regulars pervaded her thoughts, making her blink from the gaze she had fixed on the doorway. Someone was nudging her side.
"Hey, Holl." It was Francis.
Holly turned to beam her best smile at him, though smiling was never really her thing. He tugged at her sleeve. "How's it going?"
Horribly. "Good."
His bright blue frat boy eyes gleamed at her. "Going anywhere tonight?"
She shrugged him off, uncomfortable. It was as if guys were automatically drawn towards girls that had experienced a tragedy. It left them open and vulnerable- the perfect catch.
"No. I think I'm going to stay in tonight." She kept her answer vague, hoping not to pique his interest. She was not feeling like drunken "partying," as they always called it. Already she could see the glaze in his vision and hear the slight slur in his words.
"Oh. That's tooooo bad." Francis raised his bottle to her and took a swig. ",'cause I don't have a date."
She clenched her jaw, focusing on the edge of the wooden bar table, her fingers digging into the hard wood. "Why don't you go find one, Francis?"
"Because," he answered, breathing down her neck. She could smell the beer. "I found you, didn't I?"
Holly sighed and her eyebrow twitched. The bottle fell out of Francis' hand and landed on his lap, spilling liquid all over his pants. His mouth widened. "I...uh…I gotta go." He hopped off the barstool, stumbling a bit, and she could hear some quiet sniggers coming from the corner of the room. She smirked, picking the bottle up off the floor.
"Aw, shit." Randy, the bartender, slapped a towel over his shoulder. "That prick should come back and clean up his mess."
"It's okay, Rand, I got this." She smiled up at him, and Randy rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncertain. He handed the towel to her. "Thanks, Holl."
Holly waved him away to go get her another beer, glancing around the room to make sure no one was watching. The excitement seemed to have passed, and all eyes were avoiding her direction. She watched the window for a second to verify that no one was about to enter, then she flicked her eyes to the beer dripping from the barstool next to her.
She focused, and the liquid was gone in an instant, the wood gleaming fresh and clean in the overhead light.
Satisfied, she faced the counter again, throwing the towel on the counter. Randy re-appeared with her drink in his hand. "Thanks, doll. Appreciate it. It's on the house."
"Thanks, Randy." Holly took the drink from him and tapped her fingers on the side of the bottle. It was cold on her skin, but she warmed it up instantly. Randy didn't seem to notice.
"So," he said, leaning on the counter, grabbing the towel, and wiping down some wine glasses. "Any plans for tonight?"
Holly's eyes followed a shady looking guy in a dark sweatshirt enter the bar door. "Uh, no, not really," she answered, distracted. "I think I'm just gonna stay in."
"Surely a girl like you has got to pick up a date sooner or later." Randy was just teasing, but Holly felt the words cut deep. "No," she said softly. "Not tonight."
That's all they saw in her, guys. They saw the long black curly hair, the olive complexion, and the golden eyes, and they saw a pretty date. But it never lasted long. People were afraid of her, scared to get close to her, after the accident. It was if she repelled people with her sadness.
The only people that ever carried on a conversation with her were Randy, her teachers at school, and drunken frat boys.
Exhibit A. Francis came stumbling out of the bathroom, holding a paper towel to his pants. Holly turned away, trying to hide her face. "Hide me," she mouthed to Randy, and he sighed.
"'Ay, you!" The older man barked at Francis, who turned to look at him, wide-eyed. "Don't you be botherin' this lady tonight. She doesn't want your company."
Holly smiled, thinking to herself that she could handle any guy any day, but it made her feel happy to know someone cared. Francis frowned, stepping back from the barstool. "Hey, man, I don't want any trouble." He was across the room in an instant.
Randy wiped his hands on his wife-beater and grabbed a bunch of clean glasses in his hands. "You're welcome," he said gruffly, nodding to her, and headed to the back. Holly dipped her head, her curls falling around her face, smiling slightly.
She traced her fingers on the ruts in the bar, lifting her gaze slightly to watch the shady guy who had entered minutes before. She had seen him wander over to an empty table in the corner, but he wasn't there now. She frowned.
The room seemed to freeze for a moment, and then it passed. Holly was filled with the sense of foreboding again.
The crackle of footsteps outside the door. Holly slid her body around to watch the entrance, her legs uncrossing.
The handle turned.
Something in the back of her mind pricked, like awakening from a long sleep.
She tilted her head, playing with a stray string off of her black sweater. The door swung open, revealing two guys wearing jackets and jeans. Her mind whirred. She had seen these two before, somewhere. Alarms were going off in her head.
The shorter one met her gaze and she turned, biting her lip.
Oh, please don't see me please don't see me-
She felt their presences fade, as if they were walking farther away from her.
Holly let out her breathe.
She was sure this was what she had been waiting for.
Holly waited a couple of minutes, painstakingly counting them out in her head.
…
She sensed nothing; their presence was gone. The only thing she felt was the bar against her knees and her nails digging into the skin of her arms.
She let out a breath and slowly slid around, letting her feet touch the floor. Every instinct was telling her to run, to get out of that bar and get into her car and drive. She visualized the door of her apartment, and saw nothing. There was nothing waiting for her at home.
Get out. Leaving a tip for Randy underneath her drink, she paced across the room, not looking around. The feeling was still curling inside her, ready to unfurl and pounce. There was still something out there.
The door opened slightly before her hand touched the handle, and she cursed silently. She had to watch her emotions.
The cool air felt good on her face.
Those men, Holly knew, were not normal, and they were after something. She sensed their trail leading from an old black Impala in the parking lot to where she was standing. They were on the hunt.
Is that what they were? Hunters? Her throat was dry as she tried to swallow nervously. I'm so fucked.
Hunters didn't really have good relationships with witches.
No one has good relationships with witches, she told herself, crossing the parking lot to her car, which started at her touch. She thought of Randy. Except for middle-aged bartenders.
She needed to check her drawings.
She slid into her car, holding her trembling fingers over the steering wheel. She turned the radio on without touching it.
Holly's drawings never lied. Being an art student at SCAD, art came naturally to her, as it ran deep within her family's lineage. A couple of her witch ancestors were famous artists, and her parents had encouraged her to draw since she could hold a pencil.
"There is more than meets the eye when a witch draws," her mother had always told her. "It holds the answers you seek."
This explains her amazing grades in art school, and the plethora of sketches that covered her apartment walls.
And most recently, she had been drawing two men.
Just shadows, not enough to see their faces. Holly had the feeling if she drew tonight, she would draw those two men she saw in the bar tonight. Somehow, they were tied in with what she was feeling.
What were they after? Where are they from?
These were the thoughts that crowded her mind as she made her way down the dark-lit street that was surrounded by great hanging oaks. The slivered moon shone with a weak light down on the pavement. Holly turned into her building's driveway, keeping note of the cars in the parking lot. None of them looked unfamiliar.
She grabbed her keys and hopped out the door. The night was silent, unlike most normal nights in Savannah, which were usually filled with some form of noise, natural or not. She shivered as she pushed open the door, and entered the front entryway. It was bare, with marble floors and a few lush plants in the corner. Her parents had not left her without a large sum of money to get her through school.
The stairs echoed throughout the silence as she climbed up two stories. Holly reached 201. Home, or at least the best she had right now.
Flicking on a light-switch, her flat was illuminated. A living room sat directly across from the foyer. To the left, her bedroom; to the right was the kitchen. She tossed her keys on the table and headed to her bedroom, grabbing a pencil on the way. Her room was just a tornado of loose papers, on the floor, the walls, and even the ceiling. Some were charcoal, some were paintings, and others were just faint sketches she never got enough feeling to finish. It was a good thing she had no boy to bring back to this mess.
The window beside her bed was open, as it always was most of the time, to let in the cool night air. The breeze usually soothed her thoughts before she went to bed.
Holly changed, brushed her teeth, and hopped onto her down comforter, all the while thinking about those two men. Her fingers tingled, and her brain was on overdrive. It wasn't safe for a young witch living alone to be around Hunters. It just isn't smart.
Hunters, she thought, reaching for her sketchbook, make life so damn difficult.
She flipped on her bedside lamp, and closing her eyes, turned off all the other lights in the house without even moving a finger. Telekinesis, or something like it, came naturally to all witches. There wasn't any intense spell work involved with using your mind. When it came to complex things, like trying to decipher a lock or code, or physically changing the appearance of something, then it involved more physical movement and speech.
Or, there were always those that could do more.
Holly had never really talked to her parents about her ability. In her family, an outer reach was unheard of, and she had heard stories of her kind being labeled as freaks for developing an extra natural power. When she was twelve, she had discovered she could read people's auras, and track their spirit, without even talking or thinking to hard about it. It just happened. That's how she knew those men were at the bar without knowing who they were, or why they were there.
Her parents didn't even know their daughter's secret before they were killed.
The sound of scratches filled her room as Holly began to sketch on a blank page of paper. Her sketchbook was old and torn, well used. She used it for all drawing, which she did often.
The face of a man began to take shape. Holly pursed her lips as she filled in the eyes. They needed color. She quickly held out her hand and a pencil crayon landed in her palm. She flicked her fingers over the paper, and the man's eyes took on a beautiful pale green hue. Better.
The face was rugged, and chiseled. The hair was cut short, and on his face was a slight pout, which Holly found kind of amusing. She filled in a bit of stubble on his cheeks. This man was strikingly handsome, and she turned away from the drawing's gaze. It was as if it were seeing her, for real. She turned the page.
There was that other one, the taller one. She sketched a long face, defined nose, and shaggy brown hair. His eyes were puppy-dog like, his gaze warm, unlike the hardness of the other man's. She drew his shoulders wide, and his cheekbones sharp. Here was another handsome guy, looking as if he could see right through her. But instead of anxiousness, she felt warmth. His green gaze was soothing.
Holly shut her sketchbook instantly, with a clap. They were Hunters.
Fuck, they were Hunters.
She knew she had to stay away from them, and whatever they were after. Never get in the way of a hunt when they have their mind set on killing it. She knew that. Her parents had known that, and yet it couldn't save them.
Her lip trembled, and she bit the tears back.
What could she do? Just wait it out and hope they left town.
She closed her eyes and turned off the light.
Green eyes haunted her dreams.
The next morning, Holly drifted in and out of a foggy consciousness. She flew through breakfast, through reading the Saturday paper which she had delivered each week, and dressing. Perhaps a black lace dress and black jean jacket was a bit inconspicuous if she wanted to play an undercover witch, but Holly didn't seem to recognize that fact as she slipped on some black sandals. The day was nice, from the looks of it outside of the large glass window that filled her living room with light.
On the cobblestone streets below, a few people were milling about. Across from her building lay a tiny deli which she liked to drop in and grab a bite to eat if she was feeling a good sandwich. There was also a great coffee shop down the block a bit. Not that Holly liked coffee, but she liked the atmosphere. No one seemed to object her bringing in her sketchbook, sitting in the corner and sipping on a mocha latte.
Today, though, she was going to the cemetery.
Holly passed through down the stairs and out the front door, waving to the janitor, who was sweeping the foyer. She shrugged her beat up leather purse over her shoulder, and took off down the street, towards the old cemetery where her parents were buried.
She remembered clearly the day she saw them laid to rest. She couldn't stop the tears running down her cheeks, as she stood at the edge of that lonely grave. There had been so many people at that funeral; people who had loved her and her family.
She hadn't seen them since.
The old iron gate swung open under the slightest brush of her fingers. It was rusting. That's what she loved about this place, was the ancient peace. The headstones were rotting and falling over, with vines creeping slowly up the sides, erasing the names of people who had once had a life to call their own.
Holly made her way to the back, where her parent's graves stood side by side. They were the newest addition. The black marble was still smooth and untouched by age.
She stared at those letters: JACK AND DIANA GAINES. Her parents- or what was left of them. Just a few words scribbled on a headstone, in a lonely cemetery with only a daughter to weep for their loss.
Holly sighed deeply, for an instant forgetting the problems she faced. Right now she only wanted to curl up and lie in the soft dirt, and waste the day today.
But she couldn't. She had to know what to do about the Hunters.
Kneeling down, she placed a hand on both of her parent's headstones. Brushing away a stray curl out of her ponytail, Holly was suddenly at a loss for words. Every Saturday she visited her parents to say a few things, but she didn't know how to explain her burden.
"Mom, dad," she whispered. "I don't know what to do."
The images of those two men floated into her thoughts. She clenched her jaw.
"They're here, dad. The Hunters. I don't know what to do about it." A tear threatened to slip down her face. She blinked it away.
"Mom, you would know what to do. You could tell me why they're here." She bit her lip. "I hate being left in the dark, and I hate feeling helpless."
She dug in her bag and pulled out a sprig of rosemary, laying it out next to the headstones. Digging a small hole, she placed the plant in it and covered it lightly with soil. "For protection," Holly whispered, pressing her palms to the marble. "I promise to make a protection wreath tonight, to hang above my door." She knew this would please her mother's spirit, if she was listening. Diana had been the herbal friendly kind of witch- she used herbs for every little problem that arose within their household.
She remembered, how in their old house before they moved to Savannah, the cupboards were filled with sweet smelling plants, and Holly would find them randomly all over, in pillowcases and planted in the garden. Her mother always had a great time explaining the uses of each and every one to her.
She closed her eyes for a moment, and hoped no one saw her, which would just add insult to injury. But she sensed no one else around the perimeter, and she let the sounds of the cars and the birds fill her ears.
Then she sensed it; a flicker within her range. Someone was watching her.
Opening her eyes, Holly scanned the area. All she saw was crumbling headstones and the hanging branches of the trees, slightly swaying in the wind. At the far end of the cemetery there was a small movement; a dark figure was making its way along the gate.
Holly's skin tingled with goose bumps, and she slowly lifted her hands from the rosemary she had planted, brushing the dirt off on her jacket. Rising, she kept her eyes on the dark figure.
It was one of them, she could sense it.
The man seemed to be heading away from the cemetery now, off in the opposite direction from her apartment. Holly let out her breath and gathered her bag in her arms. That was a close call.
The Hunters were definitely out looking for something, and they might have found her instead.
What about next time? I might not be so lucky.
Quickly, she headed back to the gate, and slipped out into the street, glad for once to be back among people.
Her stomach rumbled. The deli was calling her name.
With one quick look over her shoulder, she knew the man was gone, but she couldn't feel which one it was, and what his intentions were.
Was he looking for her?
Don't get in the way. That's the most important rule.
Holly made sure she wasn't being followed, and slid into the deli doors, making the bell clang. The sound of people's voices soothed her.
She decided to stay clear of the cemetery for the next while.