Author's Note:

Rebekah.

Paramore – Misguided Ghosts.

Bastielle – Sleep Song

Of Monsters and Men – Little Talks

The Noise Grinders – Stuck at Home

Chapter One:

Casper, Wyoming. 3:33 a.m.

Tuesday 16th September 2008.

Floorboards creaked beneath her feet despite her stealthy steps, the bodies of one young woman and three dogs obviously far too much weight for the old wood to bear. She knew that if it came to it, if the floor beneath her did in fact give way, she'd be travelling a long way down into the dark depths of the basement she'd just checked, the cobwebs and dust that still matted her hair statement to such a fruitless endeavour. But there had been nothing, no sign of what she'd travelled over six hundred miles to find; no sign of what she'd travelled over six hundred miles to kill (or kill again). Rebekah took another tentative step forwards, carefully rounding a corner, taking her into the long and desolate corridor that ran alongside the ancient house's front room. The beam of the flashlight cut through the dusty air like a knife, blinding her as the light ricocheted off the mirror at the end of the hall and back into her eyes. Axel whimpered quietly at her side, small head against her leg, but she didn't have time to comfort the small creature, not when there was a hunt afoot. Her reflection shimmered once as she turned, beam of the torch piercing her chest. She tried to ignore the fingerprints in the dust, the drawn out streaks that had grown either side of her body like eerie wings.

"Fucking Angel," she muttered, scoffing. "Fucking ghost."

With one hand poised on the hilt of the sabre at her waist, the other holding the cold barrel of the pistol against her breast, she stalked quickly and carefully down the hall, keeping her back to the wall and remaining, at every moment, on her toes. Rebekah sank back into the shadows startled as the wind howled through the chimney in the living room, black ash and soggy leaves erupting from the hearth, the noise frightfully and uncharacteristically loud in a house so empty – almost out of place. The sound seemed to echo through and off the bare walls, walls that seemed grey despite their faded floral paper; though it could be argued that everything seemed grey when no life remained.

The family had been long gone (long dead more like), the last murdered fifty years ago on that very date. But it hadn't been the loss of the Jones's that had alerted the young hunter to the possible job – oh no. It had been the deaths of the four local boys that had flagged up the job, the four young idiots who decided to test how haunted the house actually was; despite the warnings, despite the fencing, despite the locks. And when the half-moon had come into being on the 7th, each and every one of them had hung from the rafters of the house, corpses testament to the demise of the old family – well, one Jones in particular.

Beck reached the end of the hall, a ghostly white light illuminating her face in a pallid glow. With her sleeve she wiped the grime away to get a better look, seeing only blue eyes haunted by the glare of the flashlight, a gash on her forehead bleeding openly from a fall she had taken earlier in the basement. But then… then there was another. Because, after all, the boys had not taken their own lives. For this Rebekah was most certain.

The once silent house erupted with a tirade of noise and movement, everything seeming to occur within the contents of a breath. The young woman was momentarily gripped by fear as her face was no longer the only one to be seen in what was left of the mirror, two dead and entirely bleak eyes staring at her from out of the abyss. Her breath misted in front of her as she forced herself to exhale, the condensation on the pane of glass in front of her crystallising into fine ice as the droplets of water in her breath met with the frozen undertones of the spirit's aura. A girl – not much younger than herself, a once pretty creature now reduced to murder in a desperate attempt to seek help, even company. She would not harm her, for it was not women she killed, but Rebekah was beyond rationality. Instinct – instinct is what keeps you alive.

The young hunter whirled round, sending a shot glancing off the wooden banister of the stairs as the woman before her disintegrated. Her Pack barked and howled as their prey dematerialised, leaving them with nought but dry air to snap and bite at instead of the semi-material being of a spirit. Rebekah turned, fingers hesitantly running over the crudely scraped 'Leave Now' that had been left for her in the dirt of the mirror, her own wild eyes now (thankfully) the only two staring back.

"We don't' have much time."

Beck rounded the corner and sprinted into the living room, her Pack hot on her tail as she began searching through cupboards and through cases for the item she was looking for, the thing that would banish the poor spirit back where it belonged. A locket – a little golden necklace containing a lock of her hair – a mother's wretched keepsake of a daughter she lost but made little effort to save. A locket that tied the spirit to the earth and it's home, despite the fact that the youngest Aston had burnt the young woman's body three days ago in the hopes that that would be the end of the girl's rotten story.

"Fan out. I need this locket found. You know what it looks like."

She may well have been talking to herself, but she had faith in her animals and their ability to gather the general gist of things. Paws scraped against fabric and plaster and wood as dogs swarmed the room, jumping up on tables or digging through the rotted foam of armchairs. A bark from her most recent addition sent her dancing to her right, a lamp smashing into fragments smaller than rice grains as it hit the wall where her head had once been. She pulled the iron sabre from its sheath just in time, parrying a knife and fork to the side, slicing a dictionary in half before skewering the rather surprised spirit though its middle, sending it away to wherever it is spirits go when they find themselves up against their natural kryptonite.

Stealing herself a breath Rebekah set herself back to work, rifling through a draw at the very bottom of a chest of drawers; family photos, old receipts and discarded pieces of paper being the only things she managed to discover, her search ending abruptly as soon as she realised there would be nothing of use to find there. She sank back against the cabinet, gun balanced precariously on her knees, as she watched her Pack at work tearing the house apart, understanding very well why the spirit of the house would be so pissed off. After all, she'd be pissed if strangers broke into her family home and ransacked the place. She sighed, gently stroking the barrel of the gun as one by one her companions gave up their fruitless searches, the youngest standing to attention at her feet with yellow couch sponge surrounding his salivary jowls, long streams of spittle sliding down his face and onto the floor by her boots. She ruffled his ears softly, pausing as a semi-familiar figure appeared over the little boxer's shoulder.

"Just let me help you Christina," she said boldly, right hand clenching the grip at her side, left hand slowly making its way towards the gun at her knees. "It's all we want. To send you back. For you to sleep."

She rolled to the side, clutching her little boxer to her chest as a vase smashed against the cabinet at her back, forcing her to shield her eyes from the explosion of sharp debris, one particular needle-like little fragment embedding itself in her arm, making her swear. She dusted off her face and reached for the gun, the spirit materialising only a foot or so away, poised and ready. Rebekah's hand hovered over the weapon, her eyes remaining on the dead girl's face. Her lips were pressed into one hard thin line, sweat beading on her brow as they silently faced off against one another. In the end, the hunter retracted her hand.

"Christina," Beck whispered, the spirit hissing at the repeated use of its name. She tried again, "Christina. This has to stop. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to help."

She slid across the floor as the girl lunged forwards, arms outstretched as if to grab her. She missed, though not before the spirit had scored three long and incredibly deep scratches across Beck's face, making her scream. Dogs barked, a howl erupting from Alistair, as the hunter found herself trapped, the ghost's hands tangled in her hair, dragging her backwards across the floorboards as though she was some sort of hunting prize or an animal ready to slaughter. The rafters of the ceiling sped by one by one, remnants of the rope that had hung the boys still there long after they had been cut down. Christina Jones' ghost didn't harm women – that was what she had been told. If she lived through it, she'd hunt down the obviously mistaken son of a bitch and demonstrate exactly how much harm Christina's Jones' ghost could actually do.

Beck wriggled in the girl's grasp, one hand supporting her hair at its roots to try and ease off some of the pressure, her eyes watering with the effort, her other hand trying in vain to reach the sabre that lay at her underside. The dogs leapt around her uselessly, the little boxer even attempting to save her by clamping his jaws round her bootlaces and pulling, though this only resulted in the knots coming undone and her left boot coming off in his mouth. Her face stung where she'd been scratched, a salty metallic taste sitting heavily on her tongue and choking the back of her throat where tears tinged by her own blood had leaked between her open lips. She brought her hands up, giving up on all hopes of unsheathing the weapon at her side, and circled the wrists of the spirit who'd begun the process of unwinding a particularly short length of rope – rope meant for her throat.

It's raining heavily outside, pelting the window panes in a way that makes it seem as though stones are falling from the heavens and not water. The vision blurs – shudders. The memory is tainted. Blood covers the walls in splatters but no – there is distortion. The walls are covered in flowers. Floral wallpaper, newly applied, hiding what lies beneath. A woman cradles a bear in her arms, bent double in front of the fireplace. She sobs. The noise echoes through time and through Recall. She drops the bear – beams of light slicing through the blinds. Daddy's home. There are footsteps on the porch, the sound of heavy duty boots, the distant clink of glass bottles. She panics. The bear disappears into the pocket of her apron. It cannot be seen – he would not allow it. From around her neck she removes a locket, the gold glinting in the light of the car's headlamps. He must not find it, he cannot. She lunges forwards, unscrewing the back of the clock on the mantle. The front door slams shut.

Rebekah shook her head, pain searing through her scalp as she tried to shake off the memory. A loop of rope constricted her neck, choking her, making her scream. She looked up into a mass of black matted hair and wild eyes.

"I'm here – to help –"

The spirit pushed her forwards, yanking her back across the floor by the rope around her neck as though she was being walked like a dog, the noose her collar and the rope her lead. She turned onto her back, the air knocked from her body, freeing up her side. In one deft (but highly awkward) move she freed the sabre from its sheath, the sharp iron cutting through the rope, Beck falling back against the floorboards as she tried to regain what little breath she could. Christina turned, screeching like a banshee, casting the rope aside as she whirled on the young hunter who was still floundering on the floor.

"Sky," she croaked. "Salt circle. Salt circle!"

Beck rolled to the side as the ghost's fist came down, splintering the wooden boards of the floor, opening up a black hole that would lead fifteen feet down into the basement below. Her breath caught in her throat as Christina trod down on the girl's chest, crushing the air from her, ribs seeming to crack under the pressure causing her to scream like she had never screamed before. An ice cold hand encircled her throat, squeezing the life from her as she wriggled beneath her grasp.

"I. Don't. Need. Your. Help."

Rebekah hissed and, with her right hand, brought the sabre up and, once again, skewered the spirit through its middle forcing it to disappear with an enraged shriek, the sound splitting even Alistair's ears, the hunting veteran having to shake off the noise like the fleas that had plagued his fur not a month ago. Rebekah moaned pitifully, dropping her weapon to pull herself up, using the column of the fireplace as a crutch, the mantle offering her some stability as she wavered on her unsteady feet. The room swam madly, all colours of grey inverting as she attempted to offer her brain the oxygen it was so cruelly deprived of, only managing to strain her damaged ribs.

"Sky," she muttered breathlessly, "Salt circle."

Rebekah Pulled the cork from the container on the dog's collar, the collie sprinting round and round her master at a practiced pace, a perfect salt line forming wherever she went. And the canister, as usual, emptied all too quickly, leaving the youngest Aston with a semi-complete salt ring, forcing her to sacrifice her iron blade to complete the protective circle. Alistair, Sky and Axel all jumped inside the ring, all careful not to disturb the fine white grains that would protect them from the coming storm. Beck leant back against the wall and allowed herself a breath, careful not to inhale too deeply for fear of how many of her ribs were actually broken. A punctured lung was not something she wanted to deal with in the middle of a job.

She rolled onto her side against the wall, Pulling the back of the clock off, the small pane of wood shattering into fragments as it hit the floor. As if it had been the sign she had been waiting for Christina appeared at the very edge of the salt circle, fists clenched at her side, teeth bared, eyes wild as she paced the outside of the ring, all three members of the Aston Pack shadowing her every move, Axel even barking at her whenever she got that little bit too close. Rebekah delved inside the back of the device, fingertips brushing cogs and metalwork before she finally found what she was looking for.

"Don't you touch that. That's mine. Give it to me!"

The locket sat in her palm about the size of a large grape or a damson, all manner of pattern on its front worn smooth from prayer, a mother's fingers rubbing it's golden surface in the hope it would bring her dead daughter back (not that she'd really gone anywhere). All manner of things around the room began to break in the girl's frustration, the mirror in the hall imploding, sending reflective shards scattering across the floor of the hall and the living room, lamps smashing, floor boards cracking. The television in the corner hissed and buzzed with static, the single bulb that hung from the roof flickering on and off before turning off completely, the glass and the filament crunching under the force of her anger sending glass raining down over all their heads. Rebekah emptied the contents of the necklace into her hand, a small lock of black hair tied with blue ribbon sitting comfortably between her thumb and forefinger. From Axel's collar she removed the little silver lighter… and then all hell broke loose.

"You cannot! You can't! You won't! Give me the necklace! Give it to me now!"

She flicked open the lid, illuminating herself in the warm and fuzzy glow of the flame that flickered in her hands as she ignited the fuel, the flame licking the strands of fine hair hungrily. It hadn't been fed for what seemed like months, and the fire nourished itself impatiently, consuming what was left of Christina Jones in a matter of seconds. Rebekah's eyes flicked upwards as she dropped the hair, allowing it to burn itself out on the floor at her boots, silently observing with a vacant expression the murderous girl burn into oblivion at her feet. At the back of her mind she saw the real Christina Jones, faded photographs of a pretty young girl with a blue ribbon in her hair on a swing, her brother pushing her as high as he could despite his small size. Case files replaced photographs, police reports of a little boy, Christopher, drowned in the pond, unable to swim. A family torn apart – a father turned to drink. What else could he do in his anger but beat his only daughter with belts and boots, a mother looking on unable and unwilling to come to her aid. Newspaper reports – a young woman, Christina Jones, hung from the rafters of the attic in a suicide attempt, died in hospital hours later. Body buried in the local cemetery, father burns all evidence, mother becomes depressed and withdraws herself from the outside world. Who would notice their absence when they suddenly disappear? Who would question their motives when they are found hanged together from the rafters in the attic?

But Rebekah could not find pity for the creature that burnt at her feet in a shrieking, screeching mass. Christina Jones had died a long time ago, all this was was an empty shell that looked somewhat like her. She'd killed and killed again, and somewhere, down the line, she'd lost her place in Heaven and carved herself out a sink hole in Hell. She closed her eyes as the last ember died, the piercing white light filling the house, smashing the windows of the living room. Rebekah bent down carefully, sheathing her sabre, shouldering her duffel bag, before gathering her Pack, her gun and her stray boot and leaving the way she had come in, through a front door that no longer stood on its hinges.

"Sayonara you evil son of a bitch."

Sterling, Nebraska. 11:47 a.m.

Saturday 20th September 2008.

"Rebekah Aston where the hell are you?"

Rebekah lived alone in the Aston house; she had done since Joe had passed. Why Jake still insisted on treating her like a child would always baffle her, though she found it was always nice to know someone still thought of her as their little girl. Though why Jake still didn't think to find her in her room she would never know. Joe had made sure to place their rooms exactly where they had used to be, the only difference being he had not rebuilt the old nursery. The nursery would have been a reminder of what had happened that night, but not only that the room would have gone entirely unused. Rebekah did not plan on reproducing any time soon, and Jacob had his wife and child and a place of his own. So, Joseph had made all the rooms that little bit bigger, and that served her very well indeed.

As usual she had already Seen him coming; she'd already known that he was paying her a visit. She was now so in tune to her brother's patterns of behaviour and the composition of his mind and life she could breeze in and out with no difficulty at all. She'd already laid the table for three, for his wife and child were in the car, the little girl being far too young to sit up at a proper chair. The chicken was cooking in the oven and the corn and the potatoes were on the hob and ready to boil, all of them timed exactly to his arrival. She knew Jake; she knew he'd walk through that door and just know. Beck sighed, flicking a pencil through her fingers as she waited for the door to slam shut. Jacob was used to the behaviour by now, used to her knowing things before they happened. It had made their lives easier on more than one occasion, winning the family a little extra money here or there or had saved at least one of them from a nasty accident. But Jake didn't like it, thought the whole thing was unnatural. He'd never breathed a word of this to his sister and Rebekah knew he loved her more than anything, but she'd Seen the conversations he'd had with his wife in bed at night whilst Beck had sat drinking a beer fifteen miles away.

"Where do you think I am?" she shouted down from her room, leaning back in her chair.

"Becky I swear to God -"

"I'll give you one guess Jake. Tisn't difficult – even for you."

Rebekah could hear her brother's boots tread heavily on the wood of the stairs, the old planks creaking under his weight. There was another set of feet following behind him and, knowing that Sarah and Ruth were waiting in the car or at least in the living room, she knew he'd brought Sky along for the ride. Axel lifted his head, black liquid eyes meeting his master's in a barely contained excitement, his tail wagging and thumping against her lovely white bed sheets.

"Oh go on then," she sighed, folding her arms across her chest.

Her hunting dog hit the floor with a bang, making her wince as he lolloped his way over to the door. He never ceased to amaze, that dog got banged around so much it'd probably cripple even the strongest of men, yet that dog never seemed to feel a thing. Rebekah smiled as he wagged his tail, waiting patiently at the door. She could hear her brother on the landing, the only one in the Aston Clan that had not been born with the gift of silence or who, like Beck, had had it drilled into them.

The youngest Aston turned her chair on its heel as Jake walked through the door, Axel literally pouncing on poor old Sky as soon as she came into his line of sight. She nodded her head in greeting to her brother as he closed the door behind him, leaving the old dog to suffer at the paws of her younger boy. She found that Joe has used to dress more practically than her Jake, Joe always wearing jackets and jeans and big old boots that would always help him get the job done. Jake dressed as he worked, smartly and cleanly, his clothes always looking as pristine as the day he'd bought them. There wasn't a speck of the country on him like there was on her, no cattle hair on his lapels or hay in his hair like there had used to be.

"Do you have any idea how long I have been lookin' for you?"

"You didn't have to look far Jake, this is my room after all. Where'd you think I'd be?"

"It's a big place Beck, you migh'a sold a lot of the land but findin' you is still as difficult as findin' a needle in a haystack."

"So the last place you look is my room?" she smiled at him amused.

"You know what I mean Becky. You could'a been anywhere."

Jake leant back against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest seeming to mirror her own stance. They could hear the dogs' claws scraping against the wooden planks of the landing outside of her room, asking to be let in, but her brother made no move. He looked much paler than the last time she'd seen him though thankfully it was no through ill health (though in her head Rebekah could not decide which was the lesser of two evils). She doubted her brother had left the office in a long while, at least not whilst the sun was in the sky. She did pity him, though his mind-set was probably the logical one to have in his situation. He had a family, a wife, a young daughter and another baby on the way. He was settling down into the life he'd created for himself, and she found she couldn't criticise him for that. However, that was certainly not her life – not one she'd choose for herself anyway.

"New shoes Jake?"

"Did you know we were comin'?"

"Course I did," Becky said, getting up and letting the dogs in, "I always know when you're comin'."

She didn't dare Pull the door, not in front of her brother. He only sighed and sidestepped quickly as Axel came gambolling in, followed by Sky hot on his little heels. Sky was an old girl; having worked the farm for Lord knows how many years. One would think she'd retire, but the collie entered herself into the family business to join Axel and Alistair and was the final piece of Rebekah's puzzle – a salt dog, the perfect circle drawer. With that in mind however, it was still a mystery how an old girl like Sky managed to keep up with them all.

"Dinner in the oven?"

"As always."

"You makin' sure them vegetables aren't boilin' over?"

"They have a couple minutes left on 'em."

"What's tomorrow's weather like?"

"Sunny and breezy till lunchtime till we get a spot of rain."

"Horse Racin'?"

"Dusty Red."

"And the-"

"Jacob Aston, you did not come all this way to cheat on the races now did you?"

"I came for the chicken actually."

Beck loved Jake's smile, she swore he inherited it from their mama. She very rarely got to see it. But he was now grinning like she had never seen him grin, taking a step towards her and embracing her in a hug so strong he reminded her of Joe. They hadn't seen each other for at least a month or two, Jacob being all busy with work and family and Rebekah out on a hunting trip to get rid of a near local ghost problem. She found the distance between them almost unbearable, their lives so connected yet at the same time so far apart. They were from two different worlds, and although Beck found herself lonely at times she knew her isolation was for the best. She would never dare ask him to re-join her in her field of work; such a thing was far too dangerous for him and his new family. She found company is the hunting dogs she'd been left with and the ghost that passed through every second Tuesday of the month, though this could never really replace the warmth of living, breathing kin. But seeing him as he was, smiling and bright and happy seemed to throw them back a good few years, back when Joe was alive and hunting and they were holding down the fort. He'd always smiled back then, and that was how she swore she'd picture him, without the weight of responsibility.

With a deep breath he let her go, holding her at arm's length, the smile now touching his blue eyes. Her brother ran his fingers through her long brown hair, pulling her head forward and planting a quick kiss on her forehead like only a big brother would.

"You have our mama's hair," he sighed wistfully.

"You always tell me that."

"I just like to remind you," he smiled, the look on his face changing. "After all you were born with so little of it-"

"Oh shut up Jake-"

Brother and sister split as the dogs came barrelling through again, Sky chasing Axel up onto the bed where the two creatures disappeared beneath the blankets. Rebekah swore under her breath at the paw prints, again when she realised Jake's attentions had been diverted. He leafed through the papers on the desk hesitantly, almost not wanting to touch the leather bound journals for fear of the curse that he believed sat within their pages. Images, photographs and endless pages of Joe's messy scrawl that she used to find as difficult to decipher as the Latin that seemed to be printed neatly on every other page were now splayed across the table, Jake's fingers hovering over them like flies. There were photos of Joe with kills, not the types of things you'd think you'd see like moose or bears or wolves, but pictures of Joe with Alistair standing over the burnt remains of a Wendigo or a grave or over the body of a werewolf. They were dark, some downright sickening, but they were pictures of Joe doing what he loved and Beck treasured them as much as any other surviving images she had of her brother.

"Still readin' this?"

"I never stop – you know that."

"How did it go?"

"Without a hitch. It was the textbook salt and burn the remains type thing – sort of."

"Anyone get hurt?"

"No one. Just your average hauntin'."

He scoffed, flipping the books closed with a thump. "Bullshit Beck – just look at your face!"

"It's nothin'," she muttered, waving him away. "A few scratches that's all. Nothin' I can't handle."

She could hear her brother grumbling under his breath, something he always did when he wasn't happy with a situation, something that always made her smile.

"Jake."

"What?"

"The vegetables are boilin' over."

Becky found it was nice to have dinner with people instead of dogs, even nicer to eat with real people and not the ghost - though she didn't sniff at the company, she was friendly enough. Jake seemed to enjoy the chicken as usual, it was their mother's recipe after all, and though the vegetables had boiled over they were still more than edible. Rebekah got to hear news about life outside the confines of wheat, windmills and Wendigos, about the economy and politics and about news that didn't centre around mysterious disappearances – news she didn't even know existed if she was totally honest. What she often forgot to remember was that there was a big wide world out there, not a world centred on the mysterious goings on in Nebraska or her surrounding states; that presidents were being elected, wars were being fought and people were dying of natural or man-made causes – not because there was a Shape Shifter in the area. And it was sort of nice for her to go back to normality, at least for a little while.

During dinner she'd watched her sister in law try and function, watched her as she'd sat a bread roll on her bump or tried to lean over herself to reach for the salt. Sarah was getting big, really big, and it would only be a few months until they were expecting their little boy and she'd find herself becoming an Aunt once more. Ruth would have a little brother to look after and her brother's family would be complete again, another Clan of Aston's to carry on the bloodline. Ruth would be coming into her Senses any time soon, just like she had done at that age, and when she was of age Rebekah would teach her niece how to See (if Jacob allowed it). The little tiny human in her sister in law was even more reason for Jake's life to remain as normal as possible. Though her little hunting job was fairly small scale compared to their family in the West, she was hyperaware of how much danger Jake's visits actually put him in – how much danger it posed him and his family. If anything were to happen – if anything were to follow him home one day… well she knew she'd never forgive herself.

The house was quiet once her family had left, the hustle and bustle of normality leaving behind an emptiness she couldn't quite put her finger on. For a reason she didn't quite understand her brother had left Sky with her, unusual considering the old hunting dog often travelled home with Jake to protect his part of the clan, but she put it off as old habit and began locking up the house, checking the salt lines and traps downstairs, redoing some of the lines beneath the doors for Heather wasn't due for another month or so. It wasn't unlike Jake to forget hunting things – normal life things he was good at remembering but when it came to hunting life Jacob was about as useful as a chocolate teapot. He often left Sky with her for a few days, phoning up when he got home in a panic because he'd forgotten where he put her, calming down immediately when she'd bark in the background at the sound of her master's voice. But that was Jake – and that was why she loved him so much.

When the phone went off at ten to ten Rebekah thought nothing of it, believing it to be Jake ringing up about Sky, all in a frenzy because baby Ruth was asking after her. Rebekah rolled over in bed, switching on her lamp and sipped some water from her glass as she checked the caller I.D. She frowned at the unknown number, bringing her knees up to her chest and placing the mobile on top, watching the blue light of the screen flash on and off three times before dimming completely. She counted in her head, a 'Nebraska' being a unit of measurement in their family, and waited for the phone to begin buzzing again, all three dogs having gathered around her bedside, eagerly awaiting the call. On her third 'Nebraska' the phone began ringing. She picked up.

"Aston family Private Line. Who's speakin'?"

"I never get tired of your country twang – do you know that?"

"You son of a-"

"You're a sound for sore ears Beck."

"Speak for yourself Shane, I ain't seen you in at least-"

"A year?"

"Or more," she scoffed, a wide and entirely genuine smile lighting her lips. "And what – pray tell – has you callin' a young lady like myself at this hour?"

"Well young lady – I have a job for you."

An hour or so passed like lightning to the young girl, an hour spent talking animatedly to her second cousin as though no time had passed between them. The hands of the clock on her bedside table ticked quickly by, her Pack giving up on their hopes of news and retiring for the night, Alistair posted by her bedroom door, Sky at the foot of her bed and Axel curled up on her pillows, paws at her shoulders. The Astons chatted for a good while about simple things, things outside the realms of their professions, of family and of dogs and of fuel prices. And when the clock struck half eleven the conversation took a more serious turn, talk revolving around hunting, of the job and what it would involve, of what she'd have to sacrifice.

"It's a big job Beck – are you sure you're up for it?"

"The job – yes. The deception – not so much."

"It's the only way he'd let you go Beck. And you know how much we need you for this – we can't and we won't go in blind, not with a Coven like this. In the old days he'd have joined us but-"

"I know Shane," she sighed, stretched an arm out above her head, almost displacing the dog that had draped itself around her neck, "you don't have to say it. I know. Joe would've been in there-"

"Like a shot," he breathed, though she could hear the smile in his voice, fond memories almost always seeming to be able to dispel the sadness that forever lay heavy in the pits of their stomachs. "And Jake would have been right behind him."

"Now there's just me."

"Now there's just you."

"How many of us are there?"

"Ten if you count in Lil, but I doubt if she'll come with us. That's still a strong nine – well eight and a half if you count the newbie."

"We've all gotta' start somewhere," she muttered under her breath matter-of-factly, though she couldn't help the irritation she could already begin to feel bubbling up inside her. Yes, it was true they all had to start somewhere, but a Coven of old and incredibly skilled Vampires was not the place to do it… unless you wanted to get yourself killed.

"Fair point. We'll sort out the details and who's who when you get here anyway. That's not important for now. Just get your ass over here as soon as possible – there's a lot of prepping to do and we need your Sighty-stuff to do it."

Rebekah sighed, "You know it doesn't w-"

"Work like that? I know. But here's hopin'."

She smiled, "I'll set off first thing in the mornin'. Jake's left Sky with me, so I've got all three."

"That'll be good, we're gonna' have one hell of a Pack Beck."

"It's gonna' be one hell of a hunt," she managed to laugh; nervously biting her tongue once she realised it had gone on for a little too long.

"Beck – are you sure you're okay with this?"

"Yeah, yeah I'll be fine," she assured, waving away his concern with her free hand, Axel snorting loudly at her ear as he shuffled to get into a more comfortable position around her bony shoulders. "They're not my favourite-"

"I know."

"But a hunt's a hunt and I'm in."

"I was hoping I'd get to hear you say that."

Sterling, Nebraska. 7:13a.m.

Sunday 21st September 2008.

The air outside was crisp and fresh, tantalising her taste buds and sensational to her senses. The young hunter finished loading the bed of the truck, setting the dogs up on the back seats before locking up the house, stepping back to check if she'd left any lights on or windows open. The bathroom window on the second floor was ajar, something she quickly fixed with a deft Pull, though she decided to do a round of the property all the same just to make sure she hadn't missed one.

Everything was still pretty much packed from her trip to Wyoming, resulting in a very quick and speedy departure. She'd left a quick message on her brother's answer machine, telling him of her plans (leaving out the hunt, the Vampires and the imminent danger) and that she'd be with her cousins Shane and Siv and that he could contact any of them if he needed her and all of the other comforting things she could think of interlaced with the usual 'I'll stay safe', 'I'll eat plenty of vegetables and drink lots of water' and the 'I promise I'm coming back. Feed the chickens whilst I'm gone though.' He'd get it when he'd wake later that morning, and by then she'd already be a third of the way there and far too far away for him to pick her up and drag her home.

She took one last look at the house, drinking in the scene. She'd caught the habit from Joe back in his hunting days, for he always said you never knew when you'd next see it (or if). She couldn't help it, and she knew how much it pained Jake to see her stand in the footsteps of her brother, back against his truck, his dogs in the bed, his pistol in her jeans. Rebekah shook her head and slid into the driver's side, fingers caressing the worn but firm material of the steering wheel as the engine guttered into some sort of life, plumes of exhaust leaking around the wheels like trails of fog. It was a big hunt – a huge job. Though she hadn't been given the exact math she knew that this was one of those 'hunts in a lifetime' things the oldest of her kind always went on about – the jobs that only ever came round once in a blue moon. The educational potential for her was astonishing, and getting to work alongside the family she hadn't seen in years was only another plus. The outlook was good – or at least she hoped, so with thoughts of ice cold berry ciders, Great Danes and machetes fresh on her mind, Rebekah pulled off the drive and started off her journey down the abandoned highway, the virgin light of dawn still young in the pastel sky that yawned above her head. With Joe's pistol down the back of her jeans and Oasis playing loud over the radio she bolted down the road feeling far less alone than she'd felt in a long, long time. And with that feeling in her chest, she decided it was a good day to drive – a very good day indeed.