Exsanguination and Other Love Stories

Bonus Story - Omega

This is Omri and Dustin's backstory, which takes place chronologically before Exsanguination and Blue. 

I. A Very Dead Witch

It began as a day like any other on both sides of Sundered Wood, but by ten-thirty in the morning things had taken a nose dive towards the melodramatic.

I hate drama. I spend most of my time trying to make sure it doesn't happen, and managing it when it does. You get used to that, being the only one with any social skills in a pack of werewolves. But I'm getting ahead of myself...

The scream came from the Other Side of our forest: from over the old wall that'd been built in our father's time, and no one had ever bothered to knock down in ours. Mostly, that's because of the big cat sanctuary there: werewolves and retired circus cats don't mix particularly well, and not just because we don't like them rattling our deer. If you've ever tried having an argument with a deaf, inbred white tiger about why it really should get back on the right side of the electric fence if it wants its dinner (because on this side we actually have to catch ours) you would know what I'm talking about.

There was only one scream. My ears caught it instantly, even though it was distant: it's not even that my hearing is that great. I've got the dullest ears in the entire pack, if you go by literary conventions. But I'm always on the lookout, and that's not just because Tickbag Dustin thinks there's nothing funnier than ambushing me at unexpected moments to see me jump.

Anyway, it was a hoarse, shriveled woman's scream, and it was followed by a dull thump. When I got to the front entrance of the sanctuary, it was to see the caretaker, our human uncle Nikolas, peering uneasily out of the front office. He wasn't going anywhere.

"Omri!" he cried. "Thank heavens you're here! I told her, you know, I told the lady not to go in! Don't go in there, pup, the new one must be loose and it'll take YOU apart too!"

"What if she's still alive? Let me in!"

"But you're just a little mite!" He refused to relinquish the keys. "You'd hardly be a mouthful for him!"

"Have you even called the police yet?!"

"She hexed the phones as soon as I told her it wasn't visiting hours! I can't!"

"Then drive to town!"

I jumped the gate.

Inside, there was a stillness to the manicured grounds which set my hair on edge. But all the inmates were secure in their cages, including the foundation's newest acquisition, a three-legged liger from the States: and where the witch lay, in a crumpled alligator-skin coat near a patch of azaleas, there were no animal prints at all. Only the fresh imprint of high heels leading in a rush to the outer wall, and the faintest, most familiar scent of snowbells lingering in the air. I stiffened where I stood.

When my composure returned, I examined the dead woman again, trying to stay focused. There wasn't a mark on her. Her hair was a vibrant red, cut close and styled around her ears, and her eyes, still open and blankly staring, were the palest of grays. It was hard to tell her age - maybe a day or two over forty, but you never know, with witches and wealthy Other Side women these days. And she was both.

I went back to the front office, where Nikolas had still not left and was fortifying himself with a drink from a hip flask. I snatched it away, then squeaked in dismay and set it down hastily on the counter - it was silver and stung my fingers instantly at contact. Great. There was some sort of bizarre seal on the side, but I was too heightened now to really register it. "Where did you get that?"