Friends Down Low (ONC2022)

Chapter 6 - The Poison Princess

Simon Tuttle's home was an old farmhouse. There'd been some improvements, such as a wraparound porch and a crude addition that didn't match the original siding. A sizeable, well-manicured lawn surrounded the home, and the entire property was itself ringed by dense forest. The porch light by the front door glowed, but otherwise, there was no sign of life.

As I walked up the steps I glanced eastward, wondering if Clancy watched and if he would be fast enough to save me from whatever mysteries lurked inside.

Probably not.

The key unlocked the deadbolt and I stepped inside. There were no overhead lights, so I had to use the shine of my phone screen to find and click on a lamp.

It had to be the most boring environment I'd ever stepped into. It reminded me very much of my few fleeting memories of my great-grandmother's house. As a child, I hated spending time there as everything about her place was exceedingly dull.

The living room contained a sofa, a chair, one lamp, and a fireplace. No television. No radio. No pictures. No artwork of any kind.

I wandered from room to room. Upstairs were three bedrooms and one bath. The bedrooms each contained the exact same setup of furniture. A single bed. Dresser. Lamp. After going through them I honestly couldn't guess which one Uncle Simon had actually slept in. His home had all the personality of a hotel.

The kitchen came next. The cupboards held a smattering of dry goods. The fridge contained nothing of interest except a six-pack of soda. Finally, I'd discovered something my uncle and I had in common—a love of root beer. I twisted one open and tilted it to my lips.

"Hello Finnigan," a voice whispered.

The bottle fell from my hand, shattered in a spray of glass and foam. I spun, throwing myself back into the sink, to face Sil, who had somehow entered the room and sat down at the kitchen table without my noticing.

"Oh my god," I swore at her. "That's the second time you've done that to me. Can't you just say hi from a distance like normal people?"

"No." She leaned back. "I'm not normal people. When one stops whispering, one gets too comfortable with noise."

I kneeled to pick up the largest pieces of glass. "You're sneaky as hell, so I guess I won't argue."

"Where have you been?" She said it with a hint of annoyance as if I'd stayed out past curfew.

"Amelia, the funeral director, took me out for a burger and a beer. Then I got jumped by some goons claiming to work for a woman called the Saint of Shadows. But I was saved by yet another damaged soul nursed back to health by Simon Tuttle." I blurted it all out, uncaring of secrets at this point.

This got her attention. "Who?"

"Clancy Krueger. He's a werewolf."

Sil's eyebrows raised. "He told you that already?"

"Yup. Gave me the hairy finger."

"Where is he now?"

"He's posting up on the east ridge," I said in my best monotone military soldier voice.

"Good. He's a brute but we could use his strength, especially since the Saint has already made her first move."

"He certainly came in handy tonight." I finished cleaning up the spilled root beer and flopped into the chair across from her. "What's your story? How did my wonderful uncle help you?"

She stood, retrieved another root beer from the fridge, popped it open, poured it into a glass, and handed it to me. She then, slowly, as if peeling a painful bandage, pulled a bracelet out from under her sleeve and off of her wrist. The effect was immediate.