Hey, thank you so much guy's for reading and reviewing my first chapter!
Also, a big thankyou to animegirl 19791 (My epic friend) for recommending me!
This is the next installment of the saga, which sees Loki get caught up in helping a murder investigation, and also getting a little closer to our friend Charlie! Hope you enjoy and once again, thank you for reading! XXX
I still don't own Loki, Thor or the avengers. :(
I stand gazing up at the hanged woman. Her feet dangle inches from the ground. She would have been beautiful once, quite stunning, but the manner of her death has robbed her of that beauty. Where her eyes would have been there is only darkness and broken flesh. Her blood has been drained and her skin is now white. She is still clothed, mostly.
Things start to blur together for me, as they always do on these things. People come and go, offering advise, blaming. At one point the father comes over, his face large and red. He pokes a red sausage finger at my chest.
"It's you that's done this," he says, "You and your kind!" He is dragged away so that he can be with his wailing wife.
Johnny, the village's inn keeper and a good friend, comes over to stand with me for a while. He is also from another world and has been here for a long time, longer than me. I feel relieved; at least I can get some sensible information now.
"Who was she Johnny?"
"The blacksmith's daughter, just sixteen and due to marry later in the year."
"Gods, it's always the same," I say, more to myself than to him.
"It's the same vampire?" He asks.
"I'm pretty sure, but obviously we're going to need to look closer." Eventually he leaves too.
My only constant is Loki, who patiently stands off to one side, waiting for me to get my shit together. He may have a long wait. He too is gazing at the body. I'm not sure if I find his lack of expression comforting or disturbing.
Handing him a notebook and a pencil, I instruct him on the next part.
"I need you to map the scene," I say. "Stay here and take in what you can. Note down anything you find strange."
I leave him there, sure that he will for fill this task. As I walk towards the body I close my eyes, letting the scents become my vision. This is always so much easier in wolf week, before the transformation, when my senses are on the rise.
The scents flow around me in a broad spectrum of colour. I note them all down for reference later and continue hunting. I know what I am looking for.
Soon enough I find it, on the trunk of the tree. The scent is red and to me it almost looks like a bloody hand print. I give a small sigh of relief, knowing it is the same man as before. This was his calling card, a smear of scent. He knows that a Lyco is on his trail and a good thing too, for he leaves absolutely no other trace of himself at the scene or on the body. We are going to have to take her for examination anyway, just in case.
I take out my other notebook and write down my observations. Loki's voice comes from behind me. Right behind me. How the hell does he move so quietly?
"Have you found what you were looking for?"
Putting my thoughts back in order I say, "Yes, it have. It's The Count."
As a joke the others and I had started to call this killer Count Cliché, on account of the type of women he killed. They had all been young and beautiful. It was like trying to work in Bram Stoker's Dracula.
Loki hands me his work and I find myself looking at a masterpiece. What I see on the page before me is a truly beautiful, Davinci-esque diagram of the scene. There are little notations of to the side to explain things further where needed.
I must have been staring for longer than I had intended because he asks, "Is it not what you required?"
"No. Yes, um…It's fine." Fine? I'm seriously considering hanging it in an art gallery when we get back.
I sigh loudly. Now comes the hard part.
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I sit in the inns main room, shot of rum in hand, and stare into the fire. The inn was basically empty, except for Loki and I and a few desperate, heartbroken people. A death in the village does not make for good business.
Looking back on the afternoon I realise that, thanks to Loki, it was not as much of a balls up as it could have been.
On the ride over here I had taken some time explaining about vampires, werewolves, magic, magicians and why humans considered us to be outside their race. I had conveniently forgotten to tell him that I am a werewolf, but when the accusations started flying about my 'kind', he caught on pretty quick. He knew that I was not a vampire.
The villagers did not want to speak to me. The constable insisted that he had done the interrogations. I got frustrated trying to explain to him that we needed some thing a little different than what had already been done.
And then Loki was there, taking over smoothly, using his calm and mellow voice to try and get across what we needed. It had all gone swimmingly after that. I realise that I probably should have been annoyed at him overriding me but, well, it got the job done.
I wonder what kind of man he had been. He had handled the villagers so well, so diplomatically.
I look over to where he is sitting in the chair opposite me and consider asking him. He is staring into the fire intently, as I had been doing. Swallowing the last of my rum, I decide to get more drinks and have a bit of a think about it. Maybe I shouldn't ask, thinking back to what Jim said about the terrible things that he has supposedly done. Maybe I don't want to know the answer.
I walk back to the fireplace and hand him his drink. Our fingers brush lightly as he takes it and his eyes flick upwards to meet mine.
Suddenly I feel flustered and blurt out, "So what were you, before, you know, all this." I wave my hand vaguely in the air, probably looking like the village idiot, and quickly take a seat.
He is silent for so long that I think he won't answer; he is just staring into the fire.
Eventually, he moves, as if waking from a long sleep. He sits forward with his elbows resting on his knees and shifts his gaze to me. It is a lazy gesture, like the question has bored him, but there is something underneath it, something uncomfortable.
"Let's just say that I've fallen rather a long way," He says quietly and looks back at the fire.
I look at his regal profile. The fire light has made the bruises disappear and it also makes him look younger, less care worn. I take in the black lashes, the black hair swept back from his face and the long fingered, elegant hands.
I think about his bearing, the general way that he holds himself, like the world owes him something. Also I think of princes, and just maybe, of Gods, and find that I am inclined to believe him.
"This life kind of suits you though," I say without really thinking. I get a small smile in return, and I think it's the first time I have seen him do so. A small smile, a small victory, I think to myself.
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The next few days pass quickly. The hearse had bought the body of the woman back to the town for Guy to examine. It is not really his job, but then, there is no one else to do it. We need to know if the Count left any traces of himself this time.
Loki and I head back to Arden after more investigations and interrogations at the village. Our findings are limited and the interrogations bring us nothing. Nobody saw or heard a thing.
Once back in town, Guy tells us the same thing. His examinations have proved nothing, except that she died from blood loss. Strangely enough, I had figured that one out for myself.
On the morning of the full moon I receive a letter from an inspector from the town of Kaelyn ten miles away. It appears that he may have some new leads. Conveniently, there is a place along the road where I can go to transform without being disturbed.
I decide to leave as soon as I can. I take a little time figuring out how to make Loki stay here when Percy comes to tell me that Loki has already made the decision for me.
"He attempted magic again Charlie," he says, almost apologetically.
"What? Is he ok?"
"He'll live. He's exhausted though. I've put him to bed."
"Can you make sure he stays here, away from the others, and the dungeons?" I ask him. We had five other werewolves, including Ray, who used our dungeons to transform in. It meant that the others could regulate their activities, and make sure there were no casualties.
"Of course I can. I don't think he's going anywhere in a hurry."
"And maybe you could teach him a little about magic while I'm gone, stop him from killing himself." He smiles at the idea of this. He does love to teach.
I don't go and check on Loki before I leave. For some reason that I don't understand, as I ride away, I feel a bit guilty about this.
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The place that I choose to transform in is an abandoned castle in what would have been the village of Lyre before it was burned to the ground.
Only three walls remain, and luckily, so do the dungeons. I had taken to calling this place Castellans Dungeon, on account of the word castellan being written on the wall down here in blood red paint. The way it moves in my torchlight makes it look as if the wall is bleeding.
I set the torch in the wall sconce outside the cell furthest from the door. I take off my sword belt and long coat and lay them on the table against the wall. I take my time removing the rest of my clothes, trying to lengthen my breaths and calm myself.
Locking myself in the cell, I then attach the key to a piece of string and tie the other end around one of the bars and throw it as far into the corridor as I can. I don't think the beast will ever figure out how to open the cell, but it pays to be on the safe side.
I sit on the cold stone floor, alone, and wait for the wolf to come.
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I wake slowly in the soft grey morning light, the same as I do every month. I stretch, trying to rid myself of the terrible dreams, trying to stop myself shaking. I suddenly realise something is wrong, that I'm covered with a green and black cloak. Just then Loki's voice comes from the other side of the bars.
"Do you realise how much danger you have put yourself in?"
Danger? As he opens the cage I rise, covering myself with his cloak as best as I can. I really need to get a look at his face, to see if he is joking. He is not, I can tell. He just looks angry.
"Danger? To me?" I say, incredulous. "Did you happen to miss seeing the creature that I turn into?"
He sneers, a look which makes my flesh crawl.
"All it would have taken was a spear. You would have thrown yourself onto it in your haste to get to its wielder! If they didn't get you then, they only needed to wait for you to turn back, when you apparently end up in some kind of coma. I spent ages trying to wake you."
I'm not sure where he gets off being so angry, and my own anger rises to meet his.
As I say, "You followed me?" I find that it's just a small hop, skip and a jump into full blown rage. The next thing I say comes out in a shout that I can't control.
"How dare you follow me? I specifically left you behind for your own safety! And then you come here, without my invitation. I thought you would have taken this opportunity to leave us. But no, you decide you would come here and let me kill you instead!"
He smiles at that, and it's no better than the sneer.
"Tell me exactly how you would have achieved that, after you put yourself so carefully away," he spits at me.
Before I shout a reply I take a look at myself. I'm sweating, shaking, ranting and trying very hard to keep myself covered with my borrowed cloak to save myself further embarrassment. This is the first time in years that anyone has seen me so soon after a re-transformation.
Gods, how pathetic I must look. This thought only enrages me further.
I open my mouth to shout and he slaps me, open handed and hard, across the face. My thought scatter, but I manage to hold on to one, the only one that really matters to me.
Glaring at him, I choke the question out in a malicious whisper. "Why didn't you just leave while you had the chance?"
For a moment I think that he will do this exact thing. Then his expression softens quickly, shockingly. It was like plunging ones feet into cold water on a hot day. It certainly serves to cool me down.
He steps back from me a little; we had been almost nose to nose. He pauses briefly, thinking.
"Where would I go?" He asks, simply. I have no answer for him and we just look at each other quietly for a while.
Slowly, carefully, he reaches out his hand and lays his fingers on my smooth cheek; on a place that only a few hours before had held his spear wound.
"Like it never happened," he mutters, fascination replacing any expression that had been on his face before hand.
Never taking his eyes from mine, he slowly moves his fingers down my face, rasping over stubble until they come to a rest at the corner of my mouth. When he runs the ball of his thumb across my lower lip, I grab his wrist and pull his hand roughly away. The sensation is too much.
My breathing had grown ragged and I feel faint. As I pass into unconsciousness, I can still feel his pulse under my fingers, beating in time with my own heart.
