Cursed Blood | ON HOLD

7. Zombie Rats

Mist coiled through the streets that bitterly cold morning, swarming Silas's neighborhood like an army of ghosts. Silas sat out on the porch with a steaming mug of coffee sprinkled with nutmeg, just how he liked it.

Sleep didn't come easily that night. Nightmares jolted him awake every hour on the hour, and he tangled himself in his blankets fighting off bloodied jowls. All the while, the snarls of the wolf walker echoed in the background, the beast threatening to come back for seconds.

A flock of geese soared overhead, honking loud enough to wake the damned dead, and Silas groaned. With his newly sensitive hearing, he needed to invest in ear plugs or the sounds would drive him up the walls. With another hearty sip of coffee, Silas placed the mug aside and climbed to his feet.

Another layer of snow covered the frosty ground, concealing any footprints once left behind. Silas found himself wandering over to the gate and halted for a moment before poking his head around the corner as if he expected something to emerge. Nothing did, thankfully.

Blood sprinkled the snowy lawn where they'd found Mr. Snowberry's. The memory of the mauled body burned in the back of his mind like hellfire. Why would someone abandon his body in their backyard? Did they want it to look like Silas or his father were responsible? Or was it possible Mr. Snowberry was snooping around for something and the killer mistook him for either Silas or his father?

In the dark and pelting snow, Silas imagined it could be easy to mistake them. That only sent his nerves into overdrive. What if someone was targeting them? It started with Seraphina, but now that he'd turned, did they also wish him dead?

Ever since the Supernatural Council had come with their loyal detectives in tow, he hadn't heard from Seraphina. She only dropped by to return their wands. Instead of explaining what was happening or how their investigation was progressing, she just left with a pitiful smile and apology. He thought they'd gotten closer after everything that happened, but maybe not.

Wind howled in his ears as he scoured the area where they'd discovered the victim. It wasn't like the detectives could've overlooked anything, right? Silas sniffed at the icy air like it held all the answers.

Fresh blood. Silas found himself following the scent like a hellhound, curiously climbing the fence into their neighbor's backyard. He didn't even think twice about being caught. Something urged him to find it. What exactly he'd find, he wasn't sure.

Soft squeaks echoed in his ears over the roaring winds. The stench of blood and death singed his nostrils, but he took cautious steps toward the source anyway. Horrid thoughts came to mind of finding another mauled body. Instead, he stumbled across a horde of dying snow rats.

Blood sprayed the snow, where several rat corpses remained with gashes in their pelts and missing heads. Silas gaped in horror. An animal must've gotten a hold of them, possibly another wolf walker. Bile rose in his throat as he reeled and hurried back the way he came, not wishing to look at them any longer.

Silas barely made it back to the fence when he noticed rats stir from the pit of the dead. That was impossible. He hadn't detected any heartbeats from them. Not unless they'd played dead with him, but wouldn't he hear them now? Perhaps the roaring winds concealed their beating. Surely that had to be the case.

Horror clawed at his throat as bloodied, headless rats sprouted up from the ground and scurried his way. Silas didn't dawdle in hefting himself over the fence, and he landed with ease back in his own yard. The rats didn't slow down.

One by one, they dug their nails into the snowy ground and iron wrought fence to climb over. Heartbeat thunderously pounding in his chest, Silas drew his wand in preparation for their attack. Curses rolled off his tongue with each spell he spat at the undead rats that neared him. Blood splattered and fur exploded amid the air.