Chapter Three
Willow and Hunter had eaten breakfast at the inn and set up their wagon — Hunter pointedly ignoring any stablehand who tried to help while Willow watched him curiously — to be on their way within an hour after dawn. As they left the city by the southern gate, Willow taking the reins today, Hunter looked over the contents of the leather folder he'd received from the innkeeper that morning along with a pendant for Willow, a cloth bag and a book, embossed with the Shining Sun emblem. Supplies for an assignment.
Reports have been made of a scourge of gevaudan besetting the small town of Bachans. Beasts estimated at twelve to twenty, all bred from healthy men. Lord Henry Chastel has been unresponsive and is unlikely to provide aid. Map enclosed, investigate and terminate.
Hunter frowned and dug around in one of his coat pockets for the felt pouch that he'd received. He undrew the cord and removed one of its contents, a gleaming, silver-jacketed bullet.
"Is that real silver?" Willow asked.
"Real and pure as can be," Hunter replied. "It's how you kill a gevaudan. Or a scourge of gevaudan, as you refer to a group. The touch of silver is like flaming poison to them. Even a flesh wound will kill if the bullet stays in." He dropped the bullet back into the bag and closed it before returning it to his pocket and settling to plan.
"What are gevaudan?" Willow asked, more to draw Hunter out of his shell than anything. "I mean, I've heard the term but never much about them."
Hunter smiled and removed the final thing delivered via the innkeeper, a book of supernatural beasts. He flipped through the pages before revealing an illustration of a wolf-like creature biting the neck of a horse … a horse that was just a little smaller than it. "Gevaudan are beasts created from a curse, men or women forced into a lupine shape the size of a horse and imbued with unstoppable bloodlust. They hunt and they kill, and their bite is toxic. And if you live through a bite … it spreads the curse, turns you into one of the scourge."
"And only silver can kill them?" Willow asked.
"No," Hunter admitted, "but it's the fastest way." He removed his long dagger from its sheath, the blade shining in the sun. "A silver edged dagger will work." He replaced it. "Fire also frightens and can harm them. It's good for herding them, too. And anointed water will burn them, though it won't kill them." He paused and searched his memory. "And the sun's light is painful enough to them that they avoid the hours around noon."
"You've done this before?" she asked.
"Once," Hunter said. "When I was apprenticed to an older Corpsman, we were assigned to take care of a gevaudan scourge. It was my last mission before I became a full-fledged agent. And my mentor sacrificed himself to lure them in so that I could trap them in a ring of fire and rain silver upon them."
Willow's eyes widened and she thinned her lips at the story. She collected the reins in one hand and took one of his in the other. "I'm so sorry," she said. It was not enough, but what else could she say?
Hunter smiled and ran his thumb over the back of her hand, the motion sending a thrill up Willow's spine. They held hands for the rest of the day, until they stopped to make camp.
It was a four-day journey to the town of Bachans, during which the duo had prepared as much as they could. Tensions were slowly building as they moved closer to a more-than-potentially dangerous assignment, and it came to a head the day before in the most unexpected way possible.
Hunter was sharpening a longsword, running a whetstone along the edge to prepare it for combat, when a thud made him jump and swing the sword in an instinctive arc. He halted an inch from Willow's neck … and she didn't flinch, her gaze less yielding than stone.
"Willow," he gasped, heart hammering with adrenaline and what he had almost done, "I've told you not to sneak up on me."
"And I've told you to wash your clothes," she said evenly, pointing downward. A wicker basket was full of his clothes, stained with mud and even blood. Hunter's shoulder twinged where Willow had patched up a nasty gash from a quick assignment on the way to the capital.
"I'll get to it later," he said, turning away, but Willow circled to stand in front of him, her short cloak somewhere else and her wings flaring with ire.
"No, you'll do it now," she said, tone dangerously calm. "We're getting to town tomorrow and then you'll be too busy or too tired." She crossed her arms, one hip jutting out. "Now's the time."
"Willow …" Hunter started, but she stepped up to him, face an inch from his own.
"Now, Hunter. I love to cook, we both clean, and I'll stitch your wounds." She pointed at the basket. "But that is for you, Mr. Rough and Tumble."
Hunter tried to stare her down, but his stitches twinged again. And with that sensation, he remembered getting them. He remembered her wide eyes filled with concern, her gentle touch as she cleaned the site, the near-painless precision she'd used with his suture needle. The kiss she'd placed upon the wound to numb it and help him sleep through the night …
"Dammit," he said, and looked away to pick up the basket. Willow swept up behind him and drew her lips near to his jaw, waiting. Hunter leaned in and she planted a searing kiss on the faint stubble there before giggling and walking away.
Hunter sighed in both vexation and infatuation. One way or another, that woman would be the death of him.
It was nearing dusk the following day when they drew close enough to town to see the lights. "Finally," Willow breathed, standing up on the driver's bench to try and get a closer look.
No sooner had she done so than an undulating cry echoed in the near distance. It wasn't a wolf's howl, it was … something more savage, more eager. The cry of a gevaudan. Willow's talons eased out of her fingertips, an unconscious reaction to danger. Hunter prepared his handheld gun, loaded with silver rounds, and his dagger. They didn't halt the horses — they didn't want to be surrounded. They needed to get to the town.
Willow took hold of a handlebar on the corner of the wagon and leaned out, her irises glowing with verdant light. She sniffed the air and caught the scent of blood and death, and a hiss of challenge bubbled up from her belly to be held back behind her bared teeth.
"See anything?" Hunter asked.
"Three," she reported. "I'm pretty sure."
"Scouts, probably," Hunter surmised. "Gevaudans are cunning almost as much as they are ferocious. They know we're different and they want to see if we're a threat." He glanced at her, at the short horns that had emerged from her forehead. "And they sense a demon, too, probably." And if they were under thrall, reporting to a master …
Hunter snapped the reins and the horses sped up to a gallop. The wagon, enchanted by Willow's mentor who had built it for lightness and ease of movement, sped up with them. The gevaudan snarled from out of sight and melted from the shadows to take up the chase with another eerie cry.
"Should we be acting like prey?" Willow asked, her voice higher than normal.
"Gotta lure them out," he said. He armed his pistol and pointed at a loping figure. A second to steady his aim and he pulled the trigger, the shot striking home with a flash of blue-white light and drawing a long, agonized snarl from the creature. That seemed to enrage the other beasts and they drew closer to the wagon, snarling and mouths visibly frothing in the light of their guiding lantern.
One leapt at them, but Willow's reflexes were quick and she grabbed it from the air by the throat, her talons sinking into its neck. The beast, its fur black in the yellow lantern light, snarled and snapped and tried to tear at her with its claws, but Willow hissed right back and grabbed a paw to block the other. Then Hunter's dagger flashed and its neck below Willow's grip was opened in a line of glowing blue-white to pour dark blood that hissed in the air.
Willow tossed the carcass away and flared her wings to catch the wind, swinging her up off the bench and onto the roof of the wagon. She looked around, her eyes instantly adjusting to the darkness, and saw the shape of the final pursuing gevaudan. She tensed against the urge to leap off the wagon entirely and engage it alone, to pit her strength against this twisted creature that would dare threaten her and hers.
But that wasn't the smart thing to do. She forced that urge down, her darker nature down, and crouched with one leg folded under her and the other splayed out for balance. "Here!" she shouted, thrusting her hand backward and knowing Hunter would understand. In a moment, she felt the grip of his pistol and she drew it in one fluid movement to aim and fire.
As she moved, the beast had bodily leapt for the wagon … and right into her line of fire. The bullet took it right between the eyes with another blue-white flash as its gaping jaws frothed with venom, and it folded in on itself to bounce off the roof to tumble into the darkness.
Willow huffed with satisfaction and swung back down to the driver's bench, handing the gun back to Hunter, who holstered it without even looking. "Damn," he groused, "really wished I'd seen that." His cheeks pinked. "I bet it was intriguing."
Willow gave a tight smile. "Just drive, Hunter," she said.
And from the shadows of a copse of trees, a fourth gevaudan watched, its muscles twitching with desire to cry out and chase and kill. But it had its commands, and was compelled to obey. It snapped at the air and turned to lope into the distance toward a lone tower on the horizon.
The gates were open as they rolled up to the wall surrounding the town. Men in the uniforms of guards were there, anxiously looking around the wagon and into the distance as if expecting an attack. Which they probably were. As the wagon rumbled through the gate, the men heaved and hauled it shut, a heavy beam falling in place to seal it for the night.
Hunter hopped down and met with a guard who looked to be a commanding officer, flashing his badge of the Shining Sun. The guard captain, he assumed, nodded in difference. "Shiner," he greeted, in the local term for a Corpsman.
"Captain," Hunter greeted, his kerchief-mask in place. Willow had her hair bound up in her own kerchief, as well, and a messenger bag over her shoulder as she joined him. "We ran into some trouble on the way in."
"Yes, sir," the captain said stiffly. "The dark hounds have been harassing us for nearly a month's time. We've had to evacuate the surrounding farms to the town for their own safety, lest the pack grow larger."
"Good work," Hunter admitted. He grinned a little behind his mask at the pleased smile he could feel radiating off of Willow. She'd been encouraging him to be polite to local officials and he … wanted to make her happy. "Is there a townhead I can speak with for a more comprehensive take?"
The captain nodded and began to lead the way. Hunter reached backward and took Willow's fingers for a quick squeeze before he followed. With Hunter going to examine the situation, Willow looked around and settled upon a matronly woman wearing the red shawl and teardrop-leaf clasp of a physician speaking with what appeared to be a village elder. She moved forward and flagged the woman down, holding up her pendant that marked her as an ally of the Shining Sun.
"Good evening, healer," she said, smiling winningly.
"Miss," the older woman greeted, glancing her up and down and seeming to approve of what she saw. "May I help you?"
"I was just about to ask the same thing," Willow said, her hands clasped at her waist. "I'm an herbalist by trade and wondered if you had anyone who would need my services? If it's not any offense, of course."
The woman sighed and nodded. "Young healers are far too thin-skinned," she chuckled. "We have more than enough smaller patients for you, girl, and myself and my assistants would appreciate the aid. If you'll follow me?"
Willow nodded and clasped her hands behind her back as she followed the healer, keeping a pleasant smile even if she wanted to wince. It wasn't just a desire to help these people that had her asking — though that was certainly part of it. She also felt the hollowness in the pit of her belly, the twinge of discomfort behind her forehead, the tingling in her extremities that meant she was weakening.
Her kind, succubi — as well as their male counterparts, incubi — could store up the life forces they fed upon like water in a jar stored for later use. That reserve slowly diminished over time as they lived and acted, as if the jar had a crack. But tapping into their power, such as during combat or to heal from wounds, burned through that power much faster. And Willow had taken little time — too little time — to restore her powers lately after so much travel.
During her time on Earth, as advised by her wise woman mentor, Willow had fed by planting "kiss it better" kisses upon their patients to help them sleep and to ease their pain. Most succubi fed in ravenous "mouthfuls" that exhausted or even killed their prey, whereas Willow's approach amounted more to restrained "nibbles" that added up and, more importantly, caused no harm.
After her mentor's death, she had continued the practice by necessity while living in Jonesborough. During which time she'd particularly had a lot of boys and men come to her with cuts and gashes, and after several years she had realized this was not a coincidence.
After a while, they arrived at a healer's hut — a central area for medical aid — and Willow's eyes widened at the size of the crowd of the injured. Most were dressed in the simple, practical attire of farmers and other farmhands, while the rest looked like townsfolk. Many carried bruises, cuts, or even bound and splinted fractures — and were glaring at various others with discontent.
"No doubt you've heard that with the gevaudan lurking about, the local farmsteads have been evacuated to the safety of the town proper," the healer said, speaking with a mix of weariness, irritation, and genuine caring that only an experienced and stressed healer could manage. "They are camped upon the central green" — many villages and even smaller towns such as this had a large central pasture area for light grazing of livestock — "but with so many people packed together and the threat looming over our heads, tensions have been high."
Ah, that explained it. And it made Willow's heart ache that so many people had been hurt because of this threat. She set her jaw, eyes shining. This was one of the reasons she'd joined Hunter's cause — to use her infernal powers to help instead of just hiding and surviving.
"Where can I start?" Willow asked, the hollow feeling in her belly intensifying at the sight of so many weak and wounded. Her predatory instincts were screaming for her to feed — to lure an unsuspecting quarry away from the herd and take him — but she clubbed them down to focus on her work.
The healer thought for a moment and pointed at a line of men who all favored each other sitting on the verandah, all with bandages tied around one or more body parts. "They were all injured building a temporary shelter for their large family that got out of hand. No violence, just honest accidents. Start there." Willow nodded with a thankful smile and approached the group with a friendly smile.
"Form a line, please," she said firmly, her tone gentle but uncompromising. She dug around in her bag for jars and bottles of powdered herbs and plant extracts that would speed healing and prevent infection before settling on a tree stump to examine her patients.
The first was a large man with grey streaks in his hair and a weathered face who regarded her suspiciously. "You're not Healer Mavis," he noted. "And I don't recognize you as one of her apprentices."
"I'm an herbalist traveling with the Shiner," Willow explained as she took his bound arm and began unraveling the bandages with practiced ease. When the last bandage was removed, it revealed a six-inch cut of moderate depth. Willow's sensitive nose picked up no hint of infection, which was good, and the bleeding had slowed considerably. She picked up a jar of handmade herbal salve that smelled both sweet and spicy. "This is made up of honey, ginger, and coneflower, with willow bark for the pain. It will help the wound heal without infection and ease scarring," she explained as she gently applied the salve to the gash before rewrapping it in fresh bandages.
When she'd finished, she placed a gentle kiss on the bandages above the wound, as if she were a mother or older sister treating a child, and carefully drawing a sliver of vitality from him that would dull the pain for a while until the salve kicked in. The gentleman grunted a bit at the odd sensation of soft cold, but brushed it off and nodded his thanks, cheeks a little flushed.
Willow repeated her explanation, application, and "good luck charm" for the rest of the workers, word going down the line and the rest accepting the action as an odd local custom that admittedly did make them feel better. The younger men, some of them barely past boyhood, looked at her with shining eyes and red cheeks as she waved them off and moved on.
By the time she'd helped the entire group, she had drawn something of a crowd of onlookers, many of whom had narrowed, scornful eyes. She met their gazes levelly and packed up her supplies, noting to replenish her supplies if she could, and marched away to report to the head healer — and felt more in-control than she had in weeks. The woman accepted her report with grace and even a small smile of approval before that smile melted and she leaned in close.
"I'd find your Shiner and lay low, young lady," she warned levely and honestly. "Word's gotten around about your 'custom,' and with tensions as they are, many women will not react well to a lovely new arrival kissing her patients." Willow blinked and nodded before departing.
As she walked to try and find Hunter, she thought over her actions. She did recall, faintly, that she'd garnered a reputation for odd practice when she'd first moved to Jonesborough with her "custom." It had soon faded away in the wake of her proven good work, but she didn't have that kind of history here, nor anywhere else. She winced and felt ready to kick herself for lack of forethought, then shook it off and resolved to find Hunter.
It took her some time, but she found him at the wagon speaking to some stablehands to handle the horses for their stay. He'd apparently maneuvered the wagon to the middle of the center square, in line with the main gate, before the handlers took away their horses to feed and rest.
As they left, Hunter noticed her approach and he smiled. Not that she could see it, or that adorable gap in his front teeth, but the way he straightened just a little and his eyes lit up … she could tell, and it made her feel warm inside. He met her halfway and they went together to the town tavern, separate from the inn. They received an out-of-the-way table where Hunter could shed his hat and both could remove their kerchiefs after they had been served.
"So you think the local lord is behind this?" Willow asked between bites of fish.
"I think he's involved somehow," Hunter corrected. "Whether he's the cause of it all or just turning a blind eye … we're gonna have to pay him a visit at some point." He chewed on his food for a moment. "So what about you?" Willow raised an eyebrow in question. "What have you been up to while I was doing my thing?"
Willow smiled and told him as they finished their meals, eyes shining at the thought that so many people would have a better chance at a smooth recovery because of her. It was a feeling she was familiar with after so long and had long served to remind her she was more than just a monster.
Hunter, while invested in the story, squirmed in his seat as nature called. Willow noticed and covered her grin before shooing him along. Hunter blushed and said he wouldn't be long before replacing his mask and making for a privy. Willow watched him go with a bemused sigh and was about to continue her meal when someone else walked up to the table.
"Miss Willow?" a young man around her age asked, wringing a cloth cap in his hands as he blushed like a madman. Willow recognized him as one of her patients from before and smiled welcomingly. "Hello. Is everything alright?"
"Um, y-yes, Miss," he replied shakily, his blush somehow deepening. "I-I just, um, w-well … may I join you, milady?"
Willow's smile faded and a warning sounded in the back of her mind. "I have a companion who just left," she said, glancing around. "He'll be back shortly."
"Then we have time," the man said briskly, falling to his knees and hyperventilating. "Milady Willow, you are the most beautiful woman I've ever met," he glanced to the side, perhaps at her unbound hair, "and I wish to know you better. Could we maybe take a walk tonight? Or can I buy you a drink? Or show you the, ahem," his pupils were dilated, "the stables?"
Willow kept her expression carefully neutral. "Sir, I appreciate the compliment, but I have duties to attend tonight. I'm sorry-"
The young man was jerked to the side to be replaced by an older woman that looked like his mother. "What are you doing to my son?" she asked acidly.
Willow blinked in confusion. "Um-"
"Don't think I don't know who you are, girl," the woman snarled, leveling a finger between Willow's eyes. "You're the so-called 'herbalist' who's been charming the men of our town all night with your 'customary kiss'." She scoffed and adjusted her grip on the neck of her son's shirt, the young man's face now red with mortification. "Whatever you've been doing, I won't stand for it," she spat. "Enchanting our men, you witch. You almost ruined my son's engagement with these flights of fancy!"
"Ma'am, I didn't-"
"Don't you ma'am me like a woman of repute," the woman cut her off. "More like a woman of the night. You keep your loose hands to yourself until morning, or else-!"
"Or else what?" came a deadly voice.
Everyone turned to find Hunter glaring hard enough to burn a hole in wood, his mask up and concealing his face in a way that made him all the more menacing. His stance was open and ready for motion, his eyes staring directly into the mother's. He glanced briefly at the son before returning to her and she quailed under that glare.
"Do continue," he said tonelessly. "Or else what?"
"Well- I- She-" The woman was flailing and they both knew it, especially in the silent rage emanating off of an agent of the Shining Sun, perhaps the most feared organization in the country.
"Huntsman," Willow said calmly, having stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder, "I'm fine. Please let me handle this." Hunter looked at her and saw calm reassurance in her eyes, then looked back at the townsfolk and deliberately took a step back … also deliberately not looking away.
"Sir," Willow said, clasping her hands in front of her, "I appreciate your interest, but I'm spoken for." Hunter glanced at her in shock at the bold statement, his glare fading out. "And besides, I will be leaving with my companion," she gestured at Hunter, "within the next day or two. It's not wise for either of us to pursue anything. And I'm honestly not interested," she said, clearly not enjoying the words, "as I never try to pursue my patients."
She turned to the mother, her countenance turning from regretful to icy cold. "And as for you, I hope you're happy accusing a woman you've hardly met of such things." She folded her arms under her breasts. "Have we even met? Or did you jump to a conclusion from idle gossip?" Her eyes narrowed. "You should be ashamed." With that, she turned on her heel and strode out of the tavern, wrapping her hair in her kerchief as she did so.
"Well spoken," Hunter commented. He glared at both townsfolk again before leaving payment for the meals and following Willow out the door.
When he passed the threshold and outside, Hunter looked around for his partner, but saw nothing. Then he heard sniffling coming from an alley between two buildings and followed the sound. He found Willow hunched in on herself, tears running down her cheeks as her palm muffled her sobs.
"Willow?" he asked, drawing close and lowering his mask. Willow turned and launched herself into his chest, and he stiffly settled his arms around her. "Talk to me?" he asked quietly.
"Why do they do that?" Willow whimpered.
Hunter was at a loss. "Do what?" he asked.
"Turn on me," she whimpered. "I was just doing my duty. I just want to help people, even if what I am defies that. And people either throw themselves at me without wanting to really know me, or they hate me for being what I am." She curled tighter into Hunter's embrace. "Why?"
"Because people are idiots," Hunter said. "They look at the surface, led by their whims and desires. They see you — a kind, intelligent, beautiful woman — and they either want you in the most shallow way or they become jealous because they want to be like you." Hunter drew away and lifted Willow's chin, his thumbs brushing away her tears. "Don't let some small-minded clods get to you, Willow." He kissed her forehead. "I know you, and I adore you."
Willow sighed and leaned into his touch, lifting her hand to lay on top of his. She felt the overwhelming urge to kiss his palm, but abstained and settled for relaxing into the contact. "Thank you, Hunter," she whispered, her voice still strained.
He kissed her forehead again and wrapped his arm around her waist to lead the way to a town inn he had rented a room from. They needed to rest up tonight for what may come in the morning.
Chapter three is finally here! If you liked it, leave a review! They keep the inspiration flowing!
*The Dresden Files continue to be THE influence on my interpretation of succubus!Willow, especially her method of feeding. it was based on Thomas Raith, the most recurring White Court vampire.
*Willow's salve is based on real herbalist practices. I very much like reading about old-fashioned remedies and use them whenever I can. And yes, willow tree bark has been used for centuries as a pain reliever and fever reducer. ^Also, natural honey is an antiseptic that germs cannot build resistance to because each batch is different. Try it out instead of Neosporin!
May your inspiration flow freely!