Blair Northwood stood outside of Don’s Gas and Grub. A burger joint/gas station. The entire front wall was painted with a beach scene, fluffy white clouds, seagulls, colorful towels, and bright umbrellas dotting its surface. It was a sharp contrast from the rich browns and greens of the store next to it, which was less than 6 inches from the gas station’s side.

The rest of Blair’s Pack was already inside, loudly bickering with each other and the cashier behind the counter. Part of Blair itched to go in. An Alpha didn’t leave their Pack alone in a new territory. But her Pack was right there, and Silver Spruce gave her an opportunity she’d had little of the past eight months.

Time to think.

In the eight months since, the Barrow King crushed two other vampiric houses under his foot before gathering two more to follow him. Eight months since the ensuing chaos caused Blair and her Pack to run from one fire to the next.

Blair, like many werewolves, was a fan of control. Control kept people safe, control kept Blair from lashing out at the first sign of challenge, control was… Control was something Blair didn’t always have. And the last months hadn’t given her much control over her Pack’s future. She was a woman who liked to plan things out, and well, she might not actually be able to make any long-term plans in this chaos. She could at least map out their next steps.

She leaned back against the hood of the Pack’s new van and closed her eyes, letting some of the noises she’d been blocking get through. Sounds jumped to the forefront of her attention; the clicking of the van’s engine, the shuffling of a man across the street, Bobby’s cheerful voice as he argued with Simon, the rustling of the great pines overhead as they danced in the wind. Blair relax slightly, releasing as much tension as she would allow herself.

The shop door next to Don’s opened, and Blair picked up a conversation from inside that caught her ear.

“Dammit, why are there so many fiends today? I feel like I’m wading through them!” An old, cracked voice complained. Blair cocked her head and listened closer. “It’s tourist season,” another voice answered. “Plenty of emotions flaring up. That shit creates some and calls even more.”

“I know how they work!” The first voice snapped. “Why hasn’t The Grave Keeper come and cleared them out yet! If they’re supposed to be so good with ghosts and spirits, then why the hell-”

“Oh, quit whining. They always come on the 1st, which you know! You just want to grumble about shit, you old geezer.”

The door shut, and the voices became muffled. If Blair focused, she’d still be able to hear the conversation, but she didn’t bother. She doubted it would be worth the effort. Their talk of fiends was interesting, though.

The little emotion spirits often popped up in places with thick ambient magic, so that wasn’t surprising. What was a little surprising was that a local mage could affect spirits and ghosts, at least according to those two. Blair was no expert on human magic, but everyone in her parents’ Pack had to learn the basics growing up. Affecting spirits was supposed to be difficult, ghosts even more so.

After a moment, Blair shelved the thought and focused back on the task at hand.

Their mission here wasn’t any less important than the others her parents had sent them on. But unlike most of the crises they’d been sent to, their work in Silver Spruce couldn’t be completed in a day. Instead, they had a little more than three weeks, enough time for Blair to indulge herself in a bit of planning.

They needed to go to the house next to drop off their luggage. After that, Blair wanted to start immediately on getting a sense of the town. Then they could start moving to get vouchers. More of a to-do list than a plan, but it was a start, and it made her feel better.

Blair opened her eyes as she heard her Pack heading for the door. She quickly walked to the restaurant’s door and pulled it open. She received a round of thanks as her Pack, their arms overflowing with paper bags stuffed to the brim with food, made a beeline for the van.

Blair shot a quick look inside the building to make sure they hadn’t trashed anything. It looked normal inside, save for a cashier staring at the door with a disbelieving look on his face. They had made off with a massive amount of food. Werewolves needed to eat a lot. While some of their strength came directly from magic, some also came from muscles and bones. Muscles and bones far denser and stronger than any humans. Which meant their bodies needed a lot of calories to maintain.

“We didn’t trash anything, Mom!” Blair turned to Bobby. The other two had already gotten in the van. Bobby was tall, with sandy blond hair and a broad face that always housed an easy-going smile. Blair was torn between wanting to smile and wanting to break his arm.

She had told him not to call her mom. She didn’t actually mind that much, but he was flaunting an order from his Alpha. Maybe after some blood, he would remember – Blair closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then another.

Control.

After another five deep breaths, she opened her eyes. And if there was still dots of red swirling in them, Bobby didn’t mention it. “You good?” Blair pursed her lips and nodded.

“Sorry.”

Bobby just smiled and climbed into the van. Part of Blair snarled at her apologizing, but she stamped that part down with an effort will. She climbed into the driver’s seat and started off down the road. The others bickered and joked, but that they made sure to leave her out of it for now. They knew when she needed time.

Blair’s breathing was as slow and deep as she could make it. Then, finally, after a couple of minutes of driving past homes and massive trees, she started to regain some of her composure.

Power had a cost. And Blair had power, far more than a werewolf her age should. But gaining too much power too quickly was not a good thing for a werewolf.

Werewolves were bound to the moon. They drew power from it, and the fuller it was, the more they drew. But their instincts and urges grew in proportion to the power.

Over time, the bond grew, strengthening the werewolf even further and letting them draw more power. But an old werewolf had hundreds of years to strengthen their willpower in step with the rest of them.

Blair, on the other hand, had been born with an incredibly strong bond to the moon, but not the centuries needed to strengthen her will against the more monstrous parts of her nature.

It was… difficult.

Eventually, Blair’s attention shifted from her breathing and the road to the town around her. It was odd, to say the least. They passed by ordinary houses and neighborhoods, but they made up less than half of what she saw.

While one neighborhood held picket fences and maybe the odd cabin, the next was made up of three, three-story stone castles. One gray, one white, and one black. Another neighborhood seemed to be made up almost entirely of one giant mansion being used as an apartment complex. Thin houses that had to be five stories or more, some that seem to have partially sunken into the ground, the list went on.

“Where are we?” Simon asked, bewildered. No one answered.

Blair wanted to say that they slipped into the north side of Silver Spruce. But that would imply a gradual change. The boundary to the north side was as gradual as a car wreck. One second they were driving on dark pavement; the next, they were bouncing over a dirt road that was absolutely covered with potholes.

“Jesus!” Bobby swore as the van bucked and bounced over the road.

Unlike the rest of them, Laurel hadn’t put her seatbelt on. Which was relatively understandable. A werewolf pretty much couldn’t die from something as tame as a high-speed car wreck. But just because it wouldn’t seriously injure her didn’t make it comfortable. Laurel bounced, her head clipping the ceiling and the window in quick succession. She went from looking like she was ready to go to a dance to looking like she’d opted to pick a fight with her face. Blair slowed down while Bobby held Laurel in place so that she could put her seatbelt on.

“Hey, look, I think you left some lipstick on the window.” He commented while giving Laurel what Blair assumed was meant to be a comforting pat on the back. Laurel thumped her head against Blair’s seat and groaned. “This is your fault, Bobby!”

“What? How is this my fault!” Laurel groaned again, and Blair felt another thump against her seat. “You wear a seatbelt. It’s standard logic to assume anything you’re doing is a bad idea. If you weren’t wearing one, I would be.”

“That train of logic is both flawed and hurtful!”

Blair’s attention shifted to their surroundings. They had plenty of time to look, considering anything above twenty turned their van into a maraca.

While there was no shortage of trees and other foliage through the rest of Silver Spruce, the north side’s road cut through something primordial. The trees were huge, ancient things that pressed down on you with their presence, and you could vanish in the underbrush after only a few feet.

The buildings were another thing that differed from the rest of town. While they passed the occasional home, their neatly cut yards and typical suburban design standing out sharply against the thick forest, the other buildings were far less standard.

After about a mile down the road, they passed under a huge wooden sign, its bold red letters dulled with age. “The Silver Spruce Museum next left.”

“Ah, a museum. It seems this little town has some culture. I approve,” Bobby said as he pulled out his pipe and puffed on it. It wasn’t lit.

Laurel snorted. “You wouldn’t know culture if it bit your tail off.”

The sign didn’t lie. A few seconds later, there was a break in the trees. The gap revealed a long winding road that led down to a massive wood building, its chipped paint the same faded red as the sign.

Blair couldn’t see much of the building, as the trees had only been cut back to the bare minimum for the installation to exist, leaving it cradled by the forest on all sides. But she could tell it was big.

The museum was hardly the only oddity they passed. There was an abandoned quarry that was cast in shadow despite the early morning light. Several mansions, all but one of them clearly empty. And an old fairgrounds. That one gave all of them pause.

One moment there was unbroken forest, the next, they were staring at a fenced pumpkin patch in front of an old rundown fairground, with a giant Ferris wheel at its center. Blair stopped and craned her neck to get a better look out the van window.

The pumpkins were huge and more than a few had their surfaces crawling with vines. “Are some of them carved?” Simon asked as he leaned over Bobby and Laural to peer out the window. Blair looked closer, and, sure enough, some of the pumpkins had been expertly carved into Jack’o lanterns. Grinning maws and narrowed eyes all seemed to be turned to face the van. In at least one pumpkin, Blair saw a sickly green light flicker in its eyes. She narrowed her eyes, looking closer. There was no candle in the Jack’o’lantern’s depths.

The Ferris wheel, which was oddly pristine despite the rusted, worn down state of the rest of the grounds, started to turn. Blair assumed it must have caught a gust of wind, except… The wheel was silent as it turned. And her nose wasn’t picking up any scents that should be carried by a breeze. And no trees were shaking in this breeze…

Faintly, so faint that Blair’s supernaturally good hearing could barely pick it up, she heard cheery carnival music start to play.

Blair decided it was time to leave.

The fairgrounds were weird, but there was one spot that stood out to Blair above the rest. On a particularly long stretch of road, where the forest was entirely unbroken for the better part of a mile. They were slowly making their way along when Blair felt a growing sense of unease.

The others felt it, too, all of them shifting in place and looking around. The feeling grew and grew, and as it did, the forest seemed to darken around them. It was like an itch she couldn’t scratch combined with the unmistakable feeling of hostility. It wasn’t even directed at them in particular. Instead, the feeling blanked the entire area like a wave of malice.

It continued to build until, at one long curve in the road, Blair slammed on the brakes. There were no complaints or questions. All of them stared out into the woods in the same direction.

Something was there. Something old. Something malevolent. Something that was watching them back. Blair switched petals, and they took off in a spray of dirt. The feeling of eyes on their back followed them. They bounced along the road in silence until they crossed some invisible line, and whatever watched them lost interest.

She slowed but didn’t stop. No one spoke. The world was a big place, and there were things in it that no one really comprehended. But running into something like that wasn’t exactly common, even for spooks like them. They had experienced weird. Hell, their world was weird. But that feeling, that sheer, overwhelming malice.

Blair shuddered.

The sheer number of oddities in Silver Spruce was starting to unsettle her. She had done as much research on the town as time would allow, but every second she spent here convinced her that she hadn’t done nearly enough.

They passed more houses and buildings, but Blair didn’t pay attention. Which irked her a little. An Alpha should be taking note of everything in her new territory. But Blair’s brain was so fried that she only remembered passing a quirky graveyard that sprawled up a hill. And even that she only remembered because of the conversation, she’d overheard in town made her assume a mage lived around that graveyard.

Someone didn’t get referred to as The Grave Keeper like it was a title without clocking in the hours.

Everyone finally shook off the fog around them when Blair checked the map and announced that they had arrived.

They hadn’t bought just any house for what was coming and what tradition demanded. The strongest Pack needed to provide adequate housing for all the representatives or entire packs that chose to attend. And they would attend, not everyone would bring their entire packs, but to not show up at all would be to look like you were hiding. Like you were scared. Like you were weak.

Showing weakness to that many packs at once was not a good plan if one valued their long-term survival.

So they had been forced to buy big and isolated. A full moon would occur before the summit, and werewolves needed space to hunt and stretch their legs. It had been surprisingly easy to find a mansion big enough to fit their needs.

Silver Spruce, it turned out, had no shortage of abandoned lots and mansions. Blair would need to look into why exactly that was the case later, but it was convenient right now. She had found a mansion, abandoned for years, but all reports said it was still in surprisingly good shape. And even if it was slightly rundown, werewolves were good workers. Plus, they could always call in a growth mage if necessary.

Blair hadn’t been able to spend as much time looking into the house as she would’ve liked, but her mother had decided to go with this one. Blair could disagree with her mother. She could rarely disobey an order from her Alpha.

The driveway wound its way uphill. It was a long drive, but in sharp contrast to the main road, it was paved and without a single pothole. Halfway up, Blair noticed a small shack off to the side.

It was unremarkable save for the fact that it was in perfect condition. Its wood looked freshly painted, not a scratch or chip in sight.

Odd. That was all the energy Blair could spare for the shack. She had been driving all day and combined with the earlier shock from that stretch of road, she was in dire need of some caffeine. The pick me up wouldn’t last long before her body tore apart the drug, but it would be a pleasant couple of minutes.

The trees were so thick that they could barely see the mansion until they were almost through the drive. The thing was big. Blair was no stranger to big, she’d grown up in a castle, but this mansion was still nothing to sneeze at.

It was an imposing thing, built from wood and stone. It stretched several stories high to an arched roof.

Windows lined its front, their clear glass offering small glimpses into the dark interior. Blair only spared them a glance, her eyes drawn to the front doors. A short flight of cobblestone steps led up to a gigantic pair of wooden doors. She had seen castle gates less imposing.

As Blair took in the building, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the manor was looming over them like some great beast waiting to pounce.

She shook herself, then pulled to a stop a few feet from the grass. The yard was huge as well, stretching out further than Blair could see from the drive. Simon and Laurel quickly climbed out, eager to explore.

Bobby, Bobby, was snoring loudly. Strange as it was, that was typically how he responded to stress. As soon as the man was certain the danger was over, he’d clock out. It was a habit he’d picked up before joining the Northwoods Pack.

He looked older asleep, the typical smile and glow of warm humor gone. Leaving him looking worn and oddly cold.

Turning in her seat, she reached back and shook him. He woke with a start, quickly looking down at his empty hand. He started searching frantically, only for Blair’s words to bring him up short. “On the left.” He looked and saw his pipe. It was a sturdy piece of dark brown wood a little longer than his hand. The bowl of the pipe flared out only a little wider than the rest of it. Engraved into its side with exquisite detail was the image of a wolf chasing maple leaves that swirled in a breeze.

Bobby pocketed the pipe then looked up at Blair. He gave her a look full of genuine thanks, then his wide smile returned. “I appreciate it, mom.” Before Blair could even get mad, Bobby was already out of the van and running over to the others.

Blair took a moment to gain control of the anger that had begun to spike. As annoying as it was, willpower training was essential for her. And despite his general demeanor, Bobby always seemed to know when he should or shouldn’t push her buttons.

After a minute, Blair climbed out of the van and joined the rest of the Pack. They had all waited for Blair before going inside.

As she approached them, she noticed something was off. She wasn’t quite sure what, but as she reached them, she followed their gazes, and it clicked. The grass was freshly mowed and vibrant green. There were no weeds or fallen trees insight, and what she could see of the mansion itself was equally maintained. It was not the look of a property that had been abandoned for decades.

“Did your mom or dad call in a team to clean this place up ahead of us?” Laurel asked as she examined a freshly trimmed hedge.

Blair shook her head, inadvertently sending strands of blond hair into her eyes.

“Not that I know of. And that’s usually the kind of thing they’d have me handle.” Blair had actually been expecting the property to be in mild disarray. Her mother often threw little games like that at her. She called it ‘testing her skills and resourcefulness.’ Sometimes Blair agreed. Other times Blair called it being a pain in her ass.

Maybe the whole ‘unofficial war’ thing had convinced her mother to put those little games on the back burner. Blair snorted. And maybe she would sprout wings and start breathing fire.

“Anything?” She asked Laurel. The black-haired werewolf shook her head. “I can’t pick up anything out of place. Far as I can tell, everything is normal for miles around.” Blair looked to the others and got similar shakes. Bobby and Simon didn’t even look at her, keeping their gazes fixed on the mansion. Laurel had the best senses out of any of them. She couldn’t sense anything wrong, and neither could the rest of them.

If Blair had sensed so much as a rat where she felt one shouldn’t be, she would’ve told them to get back in the car. But nothing was wrong, aside from the pristine state of the property. Despite how strange it felt, the most likely answer was that her mother had simply taken care of the groundskeeping before Blair and the others arrived.

She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “All right, let’s go inside.” Blair unlocked then shoved open the towering double doors. They swung inward on silent, massive hinges, the thick wood moving as easily as a screen door.

“I was expecting some ominous creaking noises.” Laurel shushed Bobby.

A few steps inside revealed a massive chamber. It stretched three stories up to an arched roof lined on the sides with windows. To her right, the walls were taken over by huge windows with a view of a long hill with an immaculate hedge maze that spilled into the forest.

Directly across from the entrance was a wide staircase that split to lead to the second story. Said second story had a balcony overlooking the first. There were dozens of other details, paintings on the walls, chairs, and tables, a fireplace, all of which Blair barely even registered as she searched for any hidden dangers.

She wasn’t finding any, but they wouldn’t be hidden dangers if she could spot them easily, would they?

Blair searched for a solid two minutes before she begrudgingly signaled her Pack to come inside. Her instincts itched that something was wrong, but her senses told her nothing was there. It was a frustrating experience. A werewolf’s senses and instincts were seldom at odds.

Her senses were better than a wolf’s in her human form, and if she shifted, they would improve far beyond anything natural. It was a foreign experience to not be able to pinpoint what was wrong.

Bobby whistled low as he walked up next to her. “The Alpha Northwoods didn’t spare their pocketbook any punches.”

“It probably wasn’t that expensive,” Simon cut in. “At least as far as giant mansions go.”

Bobby nodded. “Fair. If this thing really has been abandoned as long as we thought, Its market value probably took a few hits.”

Blair looked around for Laurel and found her admiring some of the paintings. The girl did have a taste for the finer things in life. They advanced further into the room. Wind howled in the distance, causing the fireplace to rattle. She glanced at the windows hoping to see some trees moving in the wind. Nothing. She couldn’t even see a branch shaking.

Bobby had also looked to the windows. “That’s the second time today this town has had something that resembled ethereal wind. It’s starting to creep me out.”

Blair opened her mouth to agree but hesitated. Do not show weakness. Do not admit fear. She choked down a snarl. She could show weakness to her Pack, and fear was natural. You just couldn’t show them to the enemy. A sickening sensation moved through her gut. Her own opinions and instincts on the matter shifting one way, then the other. Laurel spoke up before the feeling settled.

“Look at this guy, he really shouldn’t look regal, but he does.”

They moved over to Laurel, who was standing at the corner of the room examining a painting framed in black wood. It was of an older man somewhere in his late fifties or early sixties. He wore a buttoned-up coat split at the sides and a comically tall top hat. His features weren’t perfectly symmetrical, his nose was a little too bulbous, and his eyebrows looked like two caterpillars. But despite that, the man’s face radiated a kind of regal kindness. The painting itself was done with excruciating detail. It looked like it belonged in an art museum. Though Blair wasn’t a great judge of such things.

“I see what you mean,” Bobby said. “He certainly doesn’t look regal.” Blair heard a scraping noise from across the room. She spun, but nothing was there. Had that just been the building settling? Her Pack had also turned, but when they saw nothing, they turned back to the painting.

A moment later, Blair heard another noise, this one unmistakably the house shifting on its foundation.

“Yet he does all the same.” Bobby continued.

The feeling that something was off refused to leave Blair. It was almost familiar, but her continued failure to actually sense anything wrong kept her from placing it. Simon pointed toward something on the painting, his finger coming close to touching it. The hairs on the back of Blair’s neck stood on end as she felt something change.

Everyone else reacted at the same time. Bobby shifted into a ready stance while Laurel stepped away from the painting to put her back to his. Simon quickly did the same with Blair.

The temperature dropped, and the sound of gusting wind slowly picked up inside the room. As that happened, a pressure settled onto Blair’s mind like a wet towel. Finally, she placed the feeling.

Back home, there was a room in the castle that no one was allowed to enter. It was one bedroom in a hall lined with them, seemingly nothing different about it. But, Blair had stood outside that door before and heard things wailing inside. And once, when her curiosity had gotten the better of her common sense, she had grabbed the doorknob. The second she had made contact, a hateful, overwhelming pressure had pushed against her mind.

Just like what she was feeling now.

“Ghost!” She screamed just before the wind coalesced into a voice.

“Intruders! Trespassers! Thieves!” Every painting in the room, save for the one of the old man, began to rattle on their hooks. The fireplace roared to life, casting the room in harsh, dancing shadows as the furniture started to float. No one spoke as shock set in. Ghosts could be dangerous. Blair knew that. But that was usually in the form of a spectral hand shoving you at the top of the stairs or a bookshelf falling over.

Right now, as Blair stared at the house that was turning alive around them, she doubted any mage short of a master could do this many things at once.

Bobby, unsurprisingly, broke the silence. “Apologies! We didn’t know this place was occupied. If you let us, we will leave immediately.” All humor was gone from Bobby’s voice, his words as calm and reasonable as a diplomats. Despite that, the ghost did not take it well. The wind once again roared through the room until it formed words. “I am sure you did not know! You were just looking for a place to stay the night!” Hate dripped from every word like acid.

“You’ll be out by sunrise!” A door slammed open, and kitchen knives floated out. “I’ve heard them all before, trespasser!” The voice tapered off into a howl as the blades descended.

“For what it’s worth,” Laural said moments before they burst into motion. “It was a good attempt at being diplomatic.”

Blair’s focus shifted as gleaming knives flew towards her. She stopped filtering her senses, letting every detail in the room jump out to her in sharp detail. She heard the air shift as the knives cut through it, heard the floorboards creak as she and Simon shifted their weight, and she could smell the steel right above her. One hand snapped up, taking the point of a falling knife on her palm.

The knife had been driven down with similar force as a grown man could bring. The tip barely broke her skin. As the surprise attack failed, Blair smacked three more knives with her other hand. One of them managed to break her skin, but it wasn’t deep. More blades flew, and Blair was forced to take several more hits, at least one of them breaking skin.

She usually would have dodged, but she was back to back with Simon; what she avoided had a decent chance to blindside him. Besides, until the ghost upped its strength, it was going to have trouble giving her more than surface scrapes. One didn’t have the strength to powder bone and flip cars without the durability to take the kind of stress that put on the body.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Bobby and Laurel weaving between the knives, deflecting points and slipping into gaps like trained dance partners. The blades probably wouldn’t be able to cut through their muscles, but they would still do more damage to her Pack than herself.

Something flew towards Blair from the side, and she barely got her hands up in time to deflect a plush armchair. While the hit itself didn’t do much more than bruise her forearms, she hadn’t been braced for a heavy impact, and the force of it shoved her into Simon. He stumbled, only for a moment, but it was enough for several knives to slam into his legs. They sunk deep, and Simon let out a grunt of pain as he was forced to ignore the blades in his skin to deflect his own armchair.

We need to get out of here. While they weren’t going to be worn down anytime soon, werewolves had no direct methods for countering ghosts. They were just target practice.

“The doors!” Her Pack reacted immediately to her order, turning and bolting for the door as a group. Each of them trusting the other to cover for them. Blair did just that, catching one kitchen knife as it sailed past her, using it to deflect several steak knives flying for Simon’s neck.

The kitchen knife struggled in her hand, trying to wriggle free like it was a living thing. But Blair could’ve splintered the wooden handle in her grip. The knife wasn’t going anywhere.

The cuts she’d received had already healed over. But more quickly piled on as they reached the door. Simon had it far worse. One of the knives in his legs must’ve managed to cut muscle, as he was limping badly when they reached the door. Laurel went to open the door while Bobby and Blair covered. With a wet sound, Simon pulled out one of the knives. There was a quick spray of blood, but it ended just as fast. Simon had the slowest healing in the Pack, but it was still fast enough to stop the bleeding immediately.

“It’s locked!” Laurel called over her shoulder. Blair swore as she was forced to smack away a butter knife aimed at her eye. They could try and break the doors down, but they were not some flimsy bathroom door. It was made from thick wood taller than Blair was. They weren’t tearing through that wood quickly, and if they tried to kick it open, they would be working against the massive hinges. They could do it, but it would take time, time in which they could be turned into imitation porcupines.

Blair was forced to step forward and catch a small sofa. As her fingers tore through the fabric and cushions to get a better grip on the frame, she got an idea. There was a set of far more breakable exits than the thick wooden door.

“Windows!” She took off towards the closest one. The attacks increased as she did, the ghost clearly reading her intent. The knives began to hit harder, punching through skin and fat before skittering off the muscle. And even more household items began to pelt her. Old-fashioned candle lamps, umbrellas, brooms. All of them smacking at her face and arms. The sofa she was still carrying served as a makeshift shield for the front of her body. The rest was easy to ignore. While pain flared across her as cuts and bruises added up, werewolves and pain were old hunting partners.

Blair reached the nearest window, the towering wall of glass easily half a foot thick. Blair switched her grip on the sofa, grabbing its metal frame on one side and leaving the other to drag against the floor.

She sped up, then pulled, bringing the sofa up like an unwieldy club. Then she brought that club down on the window, hard. Sofa club met glass, and glass gave way. It punched through the window, the massive amount of strength she’d put behind the swing blasting through the glass without resistance.

The house wailed. Not just the howling voice of the ghost, but the house itself. Walls creaked, the fireplace roared, and every floating object in the room turned towards Blair. Perfect, that would make it much easier for her Pack to escape.

As a storm of projectiles slammed into Blair from all sides, Simon jumped through the window, quickly followed by Laurel. Knives punched through her skin, chairs slammed into her legs and back, spoons smashed into her head. Blair smiled. She could take punishment. In fact, she welcomed it. For one wonderful moment, there was no conflict within her. No split desires of monstrous savagery pushing against control. Every part of her agreed with her task, protect the Pack.

Stab wounds stopped bleeding as soon as the blades left her body, her skin and muscle healed almost as fast as chairs could bruise it, and anything else sent her way wasn’t even worth her attention. Then part of the cloud split to block Bobby from going through the window.

No!

She pivoted, snatching a wooden stool from the air. This ghost had kept the property immaculate. Not even a speck of dust had been inside the manor. And its anger had shifted to her entirely when she broke the window. It served to reason that a bit more breaking would regain its attention. So, with barely any effort at all, she ripped the stool in half. The storm of objects fell to the ground in a chorus of platters and thumps. Blair jumped, looking around for any hidden knives or maybe a falling piano. Nothing, as far as she could tell, every floating object in the room had dropped lifeless.

What?

The air changed. The temperature dropping until her breath started to fog. Then the smells changed. The scent of metal, leather chairs, and wooden walls vanished. Replaced by sweat, whiskey, and rope.

What was – the knives around her feet clattered. Blair jumped, looking down for the incoming attack. None came, not from the blades-- instead, a thick, heavy rope fell over her head. No, not just a rope, she realized as it pulled tight. A noose.

It jerked up, yanking Blair off her feet. She kicked, trying to find purchase, but she was already too high. For a few seconds, she could still breathe, her windpipe strong enough to take her body weight without closing. Then the noose tightened even further, and Blair’s lungs seized.

Blair had been trained to fight since she could walk. She knew what you should and shouldn’t do when being strangled. But moments like this were when powerful instincts worked against her. Panic, desperation, ferocity. She had to fight against her instincts as hard as she ever had before, trying to keep her head.

She reached to her neck, trying to dig her fingers under the heavy rope. She got a decent grip and pulled. Nothing. She pulled harder, putting all of her strength into it. Her muscles bulged as she tried to force the knot looser, then they began to ripple under her skin as she started to shift. Still, the rope refused to budge. She considered trying to shift entirely, but even as her throat changed shape, the rope remained tight. She didn’t know if it was the nature of the knot--she was hardly an expert on them-- or something the ghost was doing, but she couldn’t free herself with brute strength. She shifted her fingers. Joints popped, and bones stretched. A moment later, her hands only vaguely resembled humans, and more importantly, she had claws.

She slashed desperately at the rope around her neck, not caring if she cut herself. A slit throat wouldn’t kill her. A lack of oxygen would.

Her claws cut into the thick strands of rope, but it put up far more resistance than rope had any right to. A second later, her claws were stopped outright, and she could feel the strands of rope mending behind her fingers. She wrenched her hands-free and tried again and again. It was useless, the rope was too strong for her to cut in a single swipe, and the damn thing mended faster than she could slash it.

She gave up on trying to cut the rope from her neck and reached to cut it from higher up. But the rope was even thicker there as the hangman’s knot had the rope wrapping around itself. She just barely managed to reach a thinner section of the rope, but she still couldn’t slash through it.

Panic truly started to set in as Blair heard her blood pounding in her ears. She couldn’t cut it!

She grabbed the rope and tried to pull herself up, relieving pressure from her neck. But her hands met no resistance, the rope coming down with them. But Blair didn’t lower at all, despite the slack rope in her hands. What? Blair managed to look up far enough to see that the rope wasn’t even attached to anything. It floated in the air, the rope slack despite the tension around her neck.

She was being strangled by an unsupported noose.

This was one of the problems with fighting ghosts; they just didn’t care about the rules of nature. Werewolves broke plenty of those rules themselves, but ghosts disregarded them as a whole. Her vision started to blacken, and her control slipped completely, panic taking its place. She was going to die.

“Ghost!”

The shout was so loud it startled Blair even as her vision continued to darken. She thrashed around and managed to see Bobby holding the painting they’d been examining earlier. “Let her go, or I rip this thing apart.” Bobby punctuated his words by tearing his fingers through the left side of the painting. The noose went limp, dropping Blair to the floor in a heap.

She tore it off her neck, the rope moving quickly now that the ghost wasn’t paying attention to her. Then, as Bobby moved his hand away from the torn painting, a scream ripped through the room. The whole house shook with the sound, and Blair’s ears throbbed with pain.

The ghost manifested next to Blair, his eyes locked on Bobby. He was tall and whipcord thin. A tattered brown jacket hung around his shoulders, partially covering a stained white shirt. His hair was thinning, and Blair only managed to catch a glimpse of his almost purple face from beneath a thick mustache before he flew at Bobby.

Screaming, the ghost slammed against Bobby. But, instead of knocking him back, the spirit merged straight into his chest, vanishing from Blair’s sight.

Bobby went stiff. His arms jerked, stiffly putting the painting back on the wall. Then they froze, his hands inches away from the picture. His whole body started to twitch and shake. His knees broke with a pop as he began to shift. A moment later, his elbow, thigh, and neck cracked as they started to shift as well.

Then they cracked again as he shifted back to fully human. The process repeated itself several times as Bobby continued to jerk and thrash. Blair shoved herself to her feet, her limbs still shaky from her near strangulation. Possession. The ghost was possessing Bobby!

She staggered forward. Unsure of what she would do, but knowing that she needed to get the ghost out of her friend.

Bobby spun to face her, his face pale and lined with tension. He threw up a shaking hand, and the house responded.

Instead of knives and chairs, the ghost sent carpets, rugs, and mats sailing at her. Blair tried to jump to the side, but all she managed was a pathetic hop in her recovering state. Her entire body was enveloped, and the next thing she knew, she was flying through the broken window. The rugs dumped her into the lawn then flew back into the house. Blair scrambled to her feet, her body regaining strength by the second.

She sprinted back towards the window only to slam into an invisible wall a few feet from the house. She bounced off of it, so unprepared for the impact that she fell on her ass. She snarled and threw herself forward again, trying to run through the invisible barrier. Simon and Laurel grabbed her and tried to pull her back. “We’ve been trying to break through it. It’s no use!” Simon yelled. Blair broke their grip and punched the wall. Her fists sunk in a few inches only to be launched back. It was like trying to hit rubber.

One of her Pack was inside, in danger. They needed her.

Blair started towards the wall, getting ready to tear into it with every ounce of strength she could bring forth, but a part of her mind that wasn’t overwhelmed with rage and fear for her friend spoke up.

“What are you going to do? Even if you break through that wall, what are you going to do? You can’t beat the ghost out of Bobby’s body.”

Blair took another step towards the wall, still fully intent on ripping into it. Then, as if it had a mind of its own, one of her hands reached over and grabbed her index finger. The snap of breaking bone was loud enough to be heard over the growling from Blair’s chest. She looked down at her crooked finger. She had broken it badly. In fact, she could see the bone pushing against the skin for a second before it started to grind back into place as it healed.

The pain pushed through the rage, forcing clarity to take its place. She needed to save Bobby, and while her instincts screamed at her to tear through the barrier and get to her Pack member, that wasn’t going to save him.

The continued throbbing from her finger kept the rage away as she thought. This wasn’t a problem she could tackle with her own strength. She needed a priest or a mage. Not just any mage, but one that could affect spirits. Her parents knew a few. It was always a good idea to have contacts with spiritual magic since werewolves didn’t have any direct answer to it. But all of those contacts would take hours to reach here, minimum. Blair wasn’t an expert in possessions, but she knew they could take hours or even days.

Bobby had a strong will, but this ghost was far stronger than any she’d ever encountered. Hell, she’d barely even heard of ghosts this strong. Blair couldn’t gamble on Bobby holding out that long. She paused as she remembered a conversation she’d overheard. A conversation about a Grave Keeper who could affect spirits.

Blair turned and got ready to sprint to the graveyard. She had smelled someone there when they had passed by earlier, and even if they had left, she would be able to track them down. She could get there faster than the van on foot, but she wouldn’t be able to get back as quickly while carrying someone, not through dense woods like these, not if she wanted to avoid knocking them out on a stray branch.

Laurel and Simon didn’t ask any questions as Blair sprinted towards the van. Instead, they followed in silence, trusting that their Alpha knew what to do.