Twisted Fate - Supernatural Fan Fiction

CHAPTER ONE



It'd been a long time since I'd visited Sioux Falls.

Too long.

America was a wild, barren country compared to my fair green England. Born and raised in her Majesty's country, my service and duty were to her. There were monsters across the world, and I'd found my fair share in my homeland, but something kept calling me back to the States. The country my father hailed from. The world that my parents never wanted me to be a part of.

My mother always said that the Fates had bigger plans for us than we could dare hope to understand and that we were always exactly where we were supposed to be.

Well, whichever Fate decided that a lone twenty-four-year-old woman should travel by motorbike fighting demons and whatever the hell else was in the dark with nothing but a bag full of weapons and her sarcastic attitude sure had a sick sense of humour.

Thus far, my travels in the US of A had been routine. If you considered monsters to be routine. Mysterious disappearances, women in white, and the odd poltergeists were usual hunter fare. They were the nuisances of our world. Dangerous, for sure, but it was all hunting 101. Nothing a little salt, iron, and maybe a dash of holy water couldn't take care of. Still, it was good work. Honourable, even.

Saving people.

Hunting things.

Some might call it the family business.

Whatever you wanted to call it, it was what'd called me back to the backwater town and had drawn me to the doorstep of a family who'd reported a murder that couldn't be considered anything other than paranormal.

"You're FBI?" the woman who'd answered the door asked.

I didn't put her far above thirty-five and could understand why she was sceptical. Not only was I young, but I had a distinctly British accent and a fake badge. Not that she knew it was fake. I wouldn't have let her get a close enough look at it to find the flaws. As she eyed me with suspicion, the toddler perched on her hip smiled around the cookie he was chewing. Apparently, no one had told him that his father was dead. I just hoped he hadn't been in the house at the time. From what I'd heard, it was a grisly scene.

"I'm on loan," I lied. "Agent exchange program. I'm truly sorry for the death of your husband, Mrs. Harrison. I know this is a difficult time and I don't want to impose. Just a few routine questions and a brief examination of the scene."

"Well, it's been cleaned up since –"

"The layout," I clarified. "Escape routes for the perpetrator, that sort of thing. Can you spare a few minutes?"

"Well, yes, I suppose..." Mrs. Harrison trailed off and looked back into the house. "I just didn't think they'd send another agent along."

"Another agent?"

Mrs. Harrison gestured that I should enter the home. I placed my hand on the gun holstered at my hip. Sure, some real feds might have shown up to ask some follow-up questions, but they'd have been the first there. Hell, they might have just left the entire case to local law enforcement. Unless they thought it was a serial killer crossing state lines they wouldn't have bothered with the case. Either I was about to have to think on my feet and make excuses to legitimate police officers and agents, or there was something else in the house masquerading as the FBI. Whichever it was, I was in potential danger.

I made my way through to the kitchen and startled a pair of men in suits, one of whom was sniffing at an empty knife block. Empty because the knives that'd once occupied it had ended up in the face of the recently deceased Mr. Harrison. The men turned to face me. Neither was short, but one towered over the other. He had broad shoulders, longer hair, and a square jaw. The shorter had stubble that wouldn't be tolerated on a real federal agent and his eyes narrowed pointedly as he took the measure of me. I lifted my hand from the gun to show that I had no intention of starting anything when there were human witnesses present who could become casualties in the crossfire.