Skinwalker

This was actual written almost a year ago and it was my first story using my characters Jack and Trace. This is them in their original form and is different than Helias, but this story goes along with Master.


Jack glared down at the boy in irritation, and then turned his scowl on Trace.
         Trace stared down at the boy, his face blank. His eyebrows knitted together and he nudged the boy with a converse clad foot. Then he grinned, revealing a mouth full of neat white pointed teeth.
         “I think I scared him.” Trace said with a snicker and nudged the boy again.
         Jack rolled his eyes and replied dryly. “That’s obvious. But we have a problem.” He glanced around pointedly. “Where’s the witch?”
         Trace shrugged and rubbed his hands together. “The trail led here, and her aura is smeared all over him.” He knelt down and rolled the boy over on his back. The boy’s face was pale, probably from fainting, but Trace knew that his eyes were a cold dark blue and that his name was Skylar. Trace had pulled that little bit of info from the boy’s mind before his eyes rolled back in his head and he pitched forward to kiss the carpet.
         Trace snorted and looked to Jack. “I can smell his fear; her scent is clouded by it.” He ran his fingers over the boy’s cheek and rubbed them together.
         “Her aura is thick and silver. And oily.” He wiped his hands on his leather pants and stood. He stated flatly. “She’s gone, for now at least.”
         Jack nodded once and gestured towards Skylar. “Grab him and let’s go. He may be useful.”

         The witch stood down wind as Jack and Trace left the apartment. Her wide green eyes tracked their movement as they disappeared around the corner with her boyfriend slung over the demon’s shoulder.
         She knew who the pair was as soon as she set eyes on them. The hunter Jack Faust and his demon Trace. Their names were well known, whispered among the circles, and revered by the other hunters.
         It was only pure luck that she had escaped them and she knew her luck would not hold for long. They would find her and kill her, of that she knew for certain.
         She cast her gaze around and didn’t detect anyone watching. Her form shimmered and shrank down to a little sorrel cat. Her whiskers twitched, and then she scampered off into the darkness.

Trace lay sprawled across the worn blue arm chair, his dark head resting on one arm rest and his leather incased legs slung across the other. Malice radiated from his half opened gold eyes and it was directed at the boy. He refused to refer to him by his name, only calling him “boy.”
         Jack had ordered him to watch the boy and not let him escape. He also said not to kill the boy. But he never said that Trace could not play with him. He grinned at the thought.

         Jack’s pale eyes wandered as he strolled down the dank side street. He listened intently; the only noise was his boots splashing through the puddles and the faraway buzz of cars. His hands rested in his pockets, one wrapped around the hilt of a silver knife. Silver would kill any kind of shape shifter, including the skin walker witch he hunted.
         Wind whistled down the street and wafted the rotten smell of garbage and other foul things to him.
         He shook his head and the dull light from the streetlight glinted softly off his mahogany hair. Then a new noise added to the mix. A faint rustling that most would tribute to the wind.
         Jack dropped to one knee, drew the knife and threw it, all in one fluid movement. His eyes locked onto the witch’s startled face and a smile slowly twisted his lips. She was pressed against the brick wall and the knife was sticking out an inch from the side of her face.
         “Oh darn, I missed.” He laughed and slowly straightened. One knee was soaked with bits of mud smudged on it.
         The witch broke from her trance and turned and gripped the hilt of the knife, trying to pull it from the wall. As soon as her pale skin connected with the knife it blistered and sizzled. She shrieked and jerked her hands away, pieces of blackened skin clinging to the hilt. Her shriek ricochet off the walls and pummeled Jack’s ears. She stumbled back a few steps and fixed him with a glassy stare. She trembled and looked like a tortured little animal, a cornered rabbit. She didn’t look like a killer, but Jack knew better. Jack’s grin was as sharp as his blade.
         “It’s silver.”
         The innocent facade fell and she snarled. Her eyes gleamed and her fiery hair glowed with a freighting light. She straightened and took a step towards Jack, but froze when he held a hand out, palm up. The knife in the wall visibly shuddered, then pulled out of the wall with a grinding screech. It shot across the space and to Jack’s extended hand. He tossed it into the air and caught it with flourish.
         “Come for the boy, or he dies.” Jack slid the knife back into his pocket. His voice darkened. “Don’t make me hunt you down, it’ll only hurt worse.” He flashed another bright smile and turned on his heel and continued his stroll down the street towards his intended destination. A couple of Cokes at the Quik Mart.
Skylar opened his eyes slowly, praying that what he had seen was a nightmare, that he was at home in his bed.
         The first thing his eyes landed on was the thing of his nightmare, Trace.
         Trace watched him with heavy lidded gold eyes and a lazy smile on his lips. When he spoke, his sharp teeth were visible.
         “Hello Precious, it’s nice to see you’re finally awake. I was getting bored.” He straightened up, swung his feet to the floor. “My name is Trace, and don’t look at me like that. I was ordered not to kill you.” Trace approached with a hip swaying walk. Skylar shrank back with a whimpering cry. He crossed his arms across his chest and hugged himself.
         Trace dropped to his knees in front of the boy and he whimpered again. A tan hand snaked out and grabbed a handful of Skylar’s dark blonde hair. He tugged Skylar forward until he was only a few inches away.
         Tears trickled down Skylar’s cheeks and Trace snickered. Then an image flickered in Skylar’s mind and Trace caught a glimpse of it.
         The demon thrust the shuddering boy away and surged to his feet. He kicked Skylar in the side and the boy cried out.
         Trace’s gold eyes were narrowed to slits and a growl rumbled from his throat.
         “I have no interest in your body boy, but if I did I would feel no need to force you.” Trace leaned down and stared straight into Skylar’s eyes. “I could make you beg for it.” He picked Skylar up by the throat.
         Skylar outweighed Trace by at least fifty pounds, but the demon picked him up effortlessly.
         The door to the room opened on creaky hinges and an icy voice spoke.
         “Drop him.”

         Jack watched, amused, as Trace obeyed the order and dropped Skylar. The boy fell into a trembling heap at the demon’s feet.
         Trace smiled innocently. “You never said I couldn’t play with him.”
         Jack eyed Trace as he shrugged out of his coat. He slid the knife from his pocket and set it on the counter that separated the kitchen from the entry way.
         “If the witch doesn’t show, you might get your chance.” He neatly hung up his jacket on a peg on the side of the door. He spared Skylar a glance.
         “Tie him up.”
         A wicked gleam graced Trace’s eyes. “With pleasure.
The witch scuttled into the room disguised as a little red mouse. When her beady eyes settled on Skylar, she sighed. He was alive, tied up, but blessedly alive.
         “You really think we’re that stupid?”
         The little mouse froze, her tiny heart hammering out a frantic rhythm. Trace bent and snatched the mouse off the floor by her tail. Trace snickered while she squirmed and squeaked. He swore and dropped her when she sank her teeth into his thumb.
         Overhead lights flipped on and Jack moved to stand beside Trace.
         “Transform!” He ordered and the image of the mouse shimmered, and then grew to the witch. She glared at them, her mouth smeared with Trace’s blood.
         The witch’s eyes darted around the room and landed on the knife lying on the counter. She lunged towards the counter and grabbed the knife. It burned but she ignored it and vaulted over the counter and into the kitchen. She snatched a dishtowel hanging from the sink and wrapped it around the knife so her skin wouldn’t touch the silver. The smell of charred flesh filled the room and she gagged. It was a thick, meaty smell and it clogged her throat.
         “Was it worth it?” Jack called from the other room, a hint of anger sharpening his voice. “Was the power worth that little girl’s life? And are you willing to sacrifice this boy for the power as well?” He burst out laughing and the sound chilled her. The next words were whispered in her ear. “Are you willing?” Soft laughter ruffled her hair and she automatically glanced over her shoulder, even though her back was pressed against a set of cabinets.

         Jack slipped into the kitchen and dropped down in front of the witch. He pulled the knife from the witch’s trembling hands and stabbed her in the stomach, the knife sinking up to the hilt. Warm sticky blood poured over his hands and soaked the front of the witch’s shirt. Her skin smoked and the edges blackened and drifted down in ebony flakes. The blood thickened, turning into a clotted pool. It vaguely reminded Jack of tomato soup. Her pretty green eyes were wide with terror and her mouth gaped open. Her hands fluttered and battered at him, and her mouth opening and closing on silent screams.
         Jack grimaced, twisted the blade, and cut downwards, thoroughly gutting the witch. A sea of new blood stained the knees of Jack’s jeans. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then pulled the knife out, flesh making a sickly sucking sound.
         Trace peered over Jack’s shoulder at the blood covering half the kitchen floor. “Christ, what a mess.”
         Jack sat back on his heels and absently brushed his hair back off his face, leaving a bloody smudge on his cheek. He heard crying and tilted his head slightly, listening. Then it dawned on him that the choking sobs were coming from Skylar. He stood, abandoning Trace who seemed entertained by the sight of the still twitching witch. He stopped in front of Skylar and cut the boy’s bonds.
         Skylar covered his face and made sounds better suited to a dying animal. Jack’s lips curled in disgust and he ripped the boy’s hands from his face and pressed the blood coated knife against Skylar’s panting throat.
         He spoke, his voice dead and empty. “If you speak of this to anyone, they will die,” he paused, “and so will you.”
         Trace’s cheery voice floated out of the kitchen. “Hey Jack, can I torch her?” The click of a lighter followed after.