Andrea Sanders, legendary hunter, is the kind of legend that only the brave and stupid dare to whisper about at night. After ditching the foster system at sixteen, she follows her father's footsteps into the only life she's ever known: hunting down...
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Stanley quieted as I pulled out the keys. Parked out in the back in what I had deemed "my spot," I gave the steering wheel a pat before emerging from the opened door and heading to the trunk. I plugged in some headphone to my phone, letting Guns N' Roses serenade me once I had grabbed my back pack and some groceries. Randomly bursting out into my awesome dance moves as I walked, I made my way through the graveyard of cars until I found the all too familiar steps.
"Bobby!" I called out as I opened the door, already in a better mood from the beat of the music pounding in my ears. "I brought beer!" Hearing him arguing with someone on the phone, I made my way to the kitchen to put the stuff away. Hamburger meat in the freezer, blood of lamb in the fridge behind the beer, cereal in the second cupboard, crushed vampire fang in the first.
I knew Bobby's kitchen better than anyone.
Grabbing a cold one for both of us, I picked my way around the stacks of books to sit down on the couch, sipping the beer slowly. He finally wheeled his way into the living room, still on the phone. As I handed him his own opened beer, he nodded at me in thanks before continuing the argument. Sounded something like a windigo. I propped my feet up on the coffee table, studying Bobby. He hadn't been in the wheelchair long, and it was still strange to see. I knew he hated it, and I hated that I hadn't been there to stop the possession that had led to it. On the bright side, he finally agreed to get a matching tattoo with me: anti-demon possession tattoos. Mine was on the back of my neck, right where my hair line could hide it if I wanted. Bobby had been there years ago for my first tattoo also, and I remembered it fondly.
"Well, what do you want to do, kiddo? It's your eighteenth birthday. I'll even pay." I smiled, stealing his hat and walking off to get the beer. Bobby had tried to stop me from drinking when I was younger, but he quickly gave up that pointless crusade.
"How about a tattoo?" I asked from the kitchen, my head buried in the fridge. We were almost out. "I think we should get those possession prevention thingies I read about." Bobby shook his head.
"Waste of money, but I'll pay for a tattoo if you want one. It'll be your birthday present. It ain't often you're back for your birthday." I smiled, excited for our small slice of normalcy. I had ran away from the foster system two years prior, and I had only lasted that long because Bobby promised he wouldn't argue with me if I waited until I was sixteen. Since then I had been driving all over on case after case. He would never admit it, but I knew he was proud of me. "So what are you gonna get?"
A smile flitted across my face. "My mark. On my shoulder." Bobby nodded, rolling his eyes. He thought it was stupid to mark my kill locations, but I did it for them. My mark represented my family: mom, dad, my older brother Steven, and Bobby. Bobby was all that was left, blood or not, but I was grateful for him all the same.
