Chapter 2
My name is Ned Thomas, a University of Florida student, and a hunter. Great life, right? Well, if you’re like me, college feels like ninety percent homework, essays, and projects. Nine percent is sleeping. One percent is just living. My hunting isn’t some self-righteous bullshit though. Like nearly every problem, it started somewhere. My family of badass hunters were all slaughtered by a crew of five, hearts ripped from their chests. They turned the hearts of my mother, father, aunt, uncle, and sister into amulets. I don’t remember much of that event, even if it was as fresh as a year and a half but since then, I’ve hardened into an angel of death. The murderers whom I named the Dead Five, because I’d make sure of it, were still lurking somewhere. My very own brother among their ranks.
In the morning, I moved like the Flash to get to class on time, taking note that my roommate, Justin, was already gone. The professor locked his doors on test day. So if you’re late on test day without a valid excuse, you’re fucked. Hunting werewolves wouldn’t pass as an excuse, though I personally believed it to be the most valid of them all.
I made it with just seconds to spare. Hello Trig exam, bring it the fuck on.
After the test, which I felt like I utterly bombed, I went to the café. I bought myself a chicken club sandwich. I made about halfway to a seat when a girl from my English waved at me, surrounded by her friends. Think her name was Haley. I sighed, not in the mood for human contact. Not that I was bad at it. A hunter like me could be a situation where interrogation is a must. Can’t have bad people skills for that. Fake social skills…but not bad.
“Hi Ned,” she said, her friends giggling behind her.
“Hey, what’s up?” I said, taking a moment to observe the girl. Long blonde hair, really green eyes, cute as hell. Her friends were hot too, two other blondes.
“There’s a party at my friend’s house tonight and I really want you to come.”
Yeah, not happening. Fortunately, I had the perfect excuse. An excuse that worked all the time.
“I wish I could but I have to work tonight,” I said. True statement. Hunting is hard work.
Haley frowned. “That’s always your excuse. Can’t you call in sick?” She gave a hopeful look.
“I can’t, sorry ladies. My boss is a friend of the family. Known him forever. He’ll know when I’m trying to dupe him.” I looked at my watch. “Ah shit, sorry, got to go.”
The girls frowned as I hurried off to my car, sandwich in hand. I stopped by the dorm first to grab my Astronomy book for my second class of the day. My semester would be really smooth: Monday and Wednesdays hosted Trig and Astronomy. Tuesdays and Thursdays belonged to English and Psychology. I quietly snagged my book, careful not to wake the napping blonde, and bolted out the door. The Gainesville traffic was oh-so-fucking lovely. Jammed pack. Dammit, I just wanted to stop by a burger place. The club sandwich didn’t do the trick. My metabolism was a bit faster than your average human. If it wasn’t for my obvious upcoming victory last night, I wouldn’t have bothered unlocking the seal that keeps me human. Though some say mystics are just humans with mystical magic powers or some bullshit that generalizes us, as if anyone can be one. But we’re rare. Extremely rare. I’m probably the only mystic in America. Or at least one of a super tiny handful. Sure in the past, there were more of us but the usual end story occurred: evil Roman dickhead orders all “threats” to be wiped out yadda yadda, one line somehow survives and now a mystic is born in a family every thousand years or so, whatever. I kind of accidentally demonstrated powers at like age two, nearly hurting my dad. Since then, they trained me from the ground up. You know how most masters are like, “don’t rely on your powers. They could consume you, blah blah.” Yeah, my parents were like fuck that. Use every means possible to kill the enemy. Don’t even let them blink your way. They were some truly scary hunters. And the sense of humor was off the charts, though directed at me most of time. Youngest and freshest target.
I held my angry feeling of loss as I made a stop at a Wendy’s. It may not be a Five Guy’s or the sort, but they were still amazing. I ordered four Baconators at the drive-thru, along with large fries, a large water, and one frosty. This fast food rush will be a nice little break from the ramen noodles I consumed on almost a daily basis.
The cashier gave me a funny look when I forked over the cash, shrugged, and closed the window. About six or seven minutes later, I received my food and was off to my next class. I devoured the entire meal while driving.
The astronomy professor’s lecture felt decent. He talked about the whole controversy thing with Pluto. Half of the class agreed with the guy who debunked Pluto to the dwarf planet classification while the other half hated him. I stayed out of the argument, amused at the strong opinions. There were a few who argued that Pluto simply blew up and that the government is trying to cover it up. Hilarious.
As I observed, I made eye contact with a really pretty girl. Brown hair, hazel eyes, olive skin. I felt myself flush but couldn’t lose eye contact. Her glowing smile enticed me.
It was at that moment, I felt something from her, a dark pressure, and forcibly turned away. A witch. Fucking shit, I can’t stand witches. They are the biggest pains in the ass. And a lot of them are sluts in the most predatory way, mainly to warlocks but the witches who caught on to what I am wanted my child immediately. Daughters born of a witch and a warlock, are often unfairly strong. I wasn’t dumb enough to overlook some of their sacred text. That stated: a daughter of a witch and mystic is a goddess’s daughter.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been approached by witches that noticed me, tried to put shit in my drink at parties (which is why I no longer go to any), or even tried to bribe me as if I was some kind of male prostitute. Witches are tricky bitches too. If you leave even a tiny trace of hair, saliva, or blood behind, they could cook up all kinds of shit with it. Tracking is their favorite, next to the voodoo mojo. When the fuck did we get a witch in this class?
As soon as the professor ended class, I bolted out the door without looking behind. After doing a thorough check on my car from the inside, out, making sure she didn’t place any wards, I got out of there.
That night, I left an antique shop at the mall, preparing for signs that could lead to a new hunt. It was at that moment, I caught two men dressed in white lab coats, armed with weird iron rods, chasing a blonde girl down an alley. I felt something very extraordinary radiating from her.
That’s when I joined the chase. If I couldn’t get a hunt, fuck it. I’d take out my frustration on the two rapists instead. They won’t be missed.
