January 23rd 2011 - Sunday

In the dawn's soft embrace, she hesitated to chase away the remnants of sleep clinging to her eyelids. This morning's reluctance was rooted not in fear but in the hope that the reality cradled in muscular arms around her waist was not a mere dream. She lay motionless, savoring the warmth of the man beside her, a surprising comfort given the previous night's surrender to the Darkness within her. This very thought brought her crashing back to reality—eventually, she would have to explain this to him. He had surely sensed that what was transpiring between them was far from mere physical attraction.

"I know you're awake," he murmured into her ear, his voice thick with sleep. "Feel like spending the day in bed?"

"Of course I do," she replied, turning to him with a broad smile. "But you promised me breakfast."

His only response was a throaty murmur as he rose, brushing his lips over the curve of her ear. As he dressed, she watched him with the satisfied smile of a cat who had lapped up the cream. The time for serious conversations would come later; today, they deserved a reprieve from their worries. For a fleeting moment, Sharon's smiling face flashed in her mind, recalling their market conversation: "If he brings you breakfast in bed, you'd better chain him to the radiator and not let him out." Clearly, Sharon had sensed what was coming, and Charlotte felt a mischievous urge to follow her advice.

After breakfast and a shower, she discovered Derek in the living room, going through her vinyl collection. He had just put on one of her beloved Presley records, but it was clear that Derek didn't appreciate The King's music.  Their musical preferences clashed just as much as their physical chemistry clicked. She let out a heavy sigh, her mind drifting back to the Darkness that had been brewing beneath her skin since last night. She knew the werewolf could sense it, but he hadn't verbalized the questions she could see lingering in his eyes.

She busied herself with the cardboard boxes against the peeling wallpaper, unable to focus in his presence. Unwrapping the first box, she was startled by the sudden assault of aggressive rock music blaring from the crackling speakers - a fierce cacophony she hadn't realized Luisa had packed. Derek, on the other hand, sat there, leafing through a tattered book, clearly bored or annoyed, the scent of old paper filling the air. The book, a romance novel written in French, looked utterly out of place in his large, calloused hands.

"I don't believe you would find that kind of literature appealing," she observed, her eyebrow arching in amusement.

He placed the book back on the shelf with precise care. Charlotte wondered why Luisa had packed that book. Maybe her cousin was subtly urging her never to return to Louisiana. Derek took a seat across from her, his eyes searching for the right words.

"You know far more about me than I know about you, and that concerns me. What exactly are you? What does it mean that you are a Witch?"

"It means only that I am an ordinary human being with a slightly expanded perception. I can see and feel things that others might not, human auras, emotions, sometimes flashes of memories. But it's not like your hearing or smell, it doesn't work automatically, at least most times. Me, I need specific rituals and spells, which can be very whimsical and don't always work. It's hard to describe exactly," she explained, struggling with her own understanding of her gift and the Curse she knew his next question would inevitably touch upon.

"And your scent... You smell almost like a wolf—of forest, anger, blood, and..." He trailed off, unsure how to articulate everything he sensed from her.

She took a moment to pause, deep in thought. She wondered if she had developed clairvoyance, or if his thoughts were simply so transparent to her. 

"It's actually something else... In the past, I've had a string of bad luck, and I refer to it as the Darkness, or the Lurker. During one of my journeys, I came across a sinister cult that was performing blood sacrifices. Somehow, whatever they were worshiping latched onto me. That's the sensation you're picking up on."

"Is it This that makes us affect each other so much?" he asked, finally looking at her. His perceptiveness impressed her. The question deeply troubled him because he was afraid of losing his ability to control his instincts, which he had learned through a painful process.

"It does seem that way. This entity appears to be a hunting spirit, similar to a predator. Its essence bears resemblance to that of a wolf, but... Taming it has proven to be incredibly challenging," she confessed, her tone tinged with a hint of shame. "I believe it may be linked to the potency of your bloodline. Your family has always been known for producing exceptionally powerful werewolves."

"You clearly feel bad about it. Is it dangerous?" he asked, scrutinizing her intently, probably listening to her heartbeat to detect any deceit.

"In this form, I don't believe so. The flame may burn brightly, but it also extinguishes rapidly. This type of excitement is certainly less risky than anger," she commented, attempting to uplift the atmosphere. "Therefore, please refrain from irritating me."

"So, I must keep the dreaded witch happy?" he smiled, one corner of his mouth lifting. "I think I can take on that task."

She chuckled, feeling the tension ease between them. But as she looked into his eyes, she knew the serious conversations were far from over. Today, however, they could afford a brief escape from their realities.

🌙

January 24th 2011 - Monday

Before dawn, a scream jolted Charlotte awake – her scream. The sound tore through the stillness, snapping Derek out of his sleep. It took him a moment to orient himself before realizing no immediate threat loomed. Gasping for breath, she received a hot cup of tea from him, a method his mother strongly believed in for calming jittery nerves. Deep within, Charlie felt a strange gratitude for Derek's presence; it was a stark contrast to her usual companions of a dog and cats, who had all but abandoned her since Derek's arrival. The touch of his warm hands proved more comforting than Isle's watchful gaze or the soothing purrs of Behemoth and Astra.

Despite her best efforts, Charlotte couldn't recollect the exact details of her dream. It was as if the memory was shrouded in fog, leaving behind only the visceral sensations of blood and a piercing scream that still echoed in her ears. She briefly considered staying home, the idea of solitude gnawing at her resolve. Yet, the idea of confronting the day by herself motivated her to take action. They had a lot to accomplish, and their investigation had stalled over the weekend.

After calming herself, Charlotte moved to the bathroom to prepare for the day. She stood before the mirror, her extremely long hair cascading around her like a fiery waterfall. With practiced ease, she braided her hair, fingers deftly weaving in beads and feathers that added a touch of mysticism to her appearance. Each movement was deliberate, almost ritualistic, as if the act of braiding provided her with a semblance of control and normalcy. Derek leaned against the doorway, observing her with a mix of curiosity and admiration.

"You always do that?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"Every morning," she replied, not pausing in her task. "It's a way to center myself. The beads and feathers are... reminders."

"Reminders of what?" Derek's tone was soft, genuinely interested.

"Of who I am, where I've been, and what I need to remember," she said cryptically, finishing the braid and securing it with a small leather band. She turned to face him, her green eyes meeting his grey-green ones. "Ready to face the day?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," he replied, offering a small smile.

As she cautiously maneuvered her sleek Chevelle into the designated teacher parking lot, a bone-chilling sight sent shivers down her spine, causing her to freeze in place. The distinct metallic tang of blood permeated the air, intensifying the eerie atmosphere. A yellow school bus, its vibrant color tainted by gruesome streaks of crimson, stood as a macabre centerpiece. The doors of the bus hung askew, adding to the unsettling scene. A swarm of police officers, their presence both reassuring and disquieting, surrounded the blood-soaked bus, creating an impenetrable barrier of authority.

Dazed, she climbed out of her car, only to be startled by Sharon's sudden appearance.

"I'm guessing the date was a repeat performance?" Sharon's tone was light, attempting to divert Charlotte's attention from the grisly scene.

"Yeah... I followed your advice and chained him to the radiator this time," Charlotte joked, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "What... what happened here?"

"No one knows for sure. Some say it was a wild animal, others think it might be murder, but nobody has been found yet... not even half of one."

"Sharon, your humor is beyond me... even this morning," Charlotte replied wearily as they finally entered the staff room.

"Let's change the subject to something more pleasant... Tell me about Him."

"There's really nothing to talk about..." Charlotte muttered, desperately seeking a way to divert the conversation, but nothing came to mind.

The day began with a surreal quality, the events of the morning casting a long shadow. Charlotte couldn't shake the feeling that something sinister was lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to reveal itself.