Greykin Mountain

| 34 | Run

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There was still something Jackson hadn't worked out. Why was the same sigil he'd seen on Eric's business letters out here in Greykin? And why was Caeleste written on them, too? Now that he knew what Caeleste were, his intrigue and confusion alike grew.

          He lay in his bed, unable to settle, failing to silence the questions racing around inside his head. Could there be a connection between the journalists missing from Dawnward and Eric's shady business? Could there also be a link between those disappearances and the ones happening in Farrydare? Was that town the place all the people he was looking for had vanished?

          Maybe that was the answer. They'd all come out here looking for wolf walkers to grasp that career-breaking story, and had stumbled across Farrydare, where something was stalking the streets in search of food. It would be easy for a creature to pick off those who weren't aware of its existence, such as travelling journalists. Wilson and the others probably had no idea what they were walking into when they arrived at that town, had they?

          His thoughts about sneaking off started protruding again. He needed to talk to those witnesses if he wanted to progress any further into this mystery. How long did he have until nightfall?

          He checked his phone. Five-thirty? Had he really been lying there in his thoughts for four hours? When was nightfall? When would his initiation begin? Why hadn't Damon come to see him yet?

          Jackson rolled onto his right side and stared over at the door. He concentrated, but he couldn't hear much going on outside. Some hammering, muffled conversation, and the howling wind.

          And something else.

                    A murmur...a whisper....

                                                                    A voice.

          He frowned, listening. At first, he thought it might be someone trying to have a quiet conversation, but once Jackson's senses homed in on it, he wasn't quite sure who or what he was hearing.

          "Here..." the hushed, slithering voice echoed. "It's here...."

          What was here? Who was saying that?

          For a moment, what Damon had said about the wind sounding like voices circled around Jackson's thoughts, but there was no way that was the wind. No, this time, he'd heard actual words. Up on the mountain and in the forests, he'd only heard what sounded like distant, distorted voices, but this time, it was unmistakable. And it sent a cold shiver down his spine.

          "Here...here..." the voice breathed, circling the walls outside Jackson's room.

          Despite his growing trepidation, Jackson slowly climbed out of bed and crept over to the back wall. The voice continued to call, and when he gradually edged his ear closer to the stone bricks, the whispers entangled and sounded more like a discombobulated, excited flurry of snarls and anxious breaths.

          "Here! HERE!"

          Jackson stumbled away from the wall and frowned in confoundment.

          And then a loud knock came at his door.

          He winced in startlement and felt as though he'd almost jumped out of his skin as he flinched and sharply turned his entire body towards the door.