#Coraline Mackintosh & Lilith Bathory

[justmoreocs-writing]

‘No,’ I said, holding the phone between my ear and shoulder. My attention skimmed around the entryway and I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. The place didn’t look abandoned in the slightest, in fact it looked pretty lived in. I desperately wanted to chant “I told you so” down the phone, but didn’t think my uncle would appreciate it. So I kept moving, checked out the living room if only to concur with my current realisation: someone was still living here.

‘Vraiment?’ he asked, the incredulity behind his voice almost palpable.

‘Would you rather be checking it out?’ I retorted, sticking to the French he was determined to converse in. It was a nervous tick of Gévaudan, I knew, but that didn’t make it feel any less pedantic.

‘Coral, perhaps –’

A sound outside caught my attention and in an instant I stopped listening to Uncle Tim. Low voices, hushed conversation just outside the front door. An obvious attempt at not being heard, but unfortunately for them they weren’t dealing with your run of the mill uninvited.

‘There’s someone in there. Doesn’t smell like Hamish,’ a male voice said. An irritating niggle at the back of my thoughts came crashing to the fore at the sound of the name, but I brushed it aside for the moment. It wasn’t useful.

‘We can take them,’ a female voice insisted. ‘Kill them if we have to.’

‘What if it’s an innocent mistake?’

‘You’re pre-med,’ came the short reply.

Without saying goodbye, I hung up on Uncle Tim and headed for the front door before the strangers could decide on their plan. Apennine lingered close at hand, despite my hope that it wouldn’t come to that. I liked this jacket, it’d be a shame to ruin it with a transformation.

I’d barely pulled open the door when I was met by flashing eyes and sharp teeth. Low growls emanated from the throats of the unexpected visitors. Not full transformations, that was something at least.

With more false ease than was probably necessary, I folded my arms over my chest and raised an eyebrow. Apennine growled at the periphery of my thoughts, but I ignored it.

‘You would make terrible spies,’ I told them simply, trying to ignore the slack jawed look of shock on the guy’s face. The woman merely looked at me with narrowed eyes and irritation seeming to seep from every pore. She looked about ready to rip my throat out. ‘Rule one: always communicate nonverbally where possible. You have no idea what the target might hear.’

The woman went to take a step forwards but was held back by her companion. His attention skittered over my face, seeming to take in every feature other than my eyes.

‘You’re not Cassie,’ he whispered after a moment. The comment was like a physical blow for the pain that came with it. Three simple words and they’d winded me more than anything else could have done.

The woman’s anger turned to curiosity as she glanced to him.

I wanted to throw a sarcastic retort his way, but the words wouldn’t come. Unable to look at him, to wonder how he’d known her, I averted my gaze to invisible lint on my jacket to pick at.

‘Name’s Coraline,’ I admitted, my gaze drifting back up to the pair of them.

I could see the question on his lips, the curiosity behind his eyes. The pain barely shielded.

‘This house belonged to my cousin.’

‘Cassie,’ he breathed, and I forced my attention to the floorboards between my feet. The prickle of tears crept up my throat, but I refused to give into it.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. ‘What’re you doing here?’

‘What’re we doing here?’ asked the woman, taking a step closer, her eyes flashing with what can only be described as her Hide’s irritation.

I arched an eyebrow at her, allowed Apennine a moment of retaliation before shrugging at the mild look of uncertainty on the others’ faces.

‘What, you thought you were the only pack around?’ I asked, unable to keep the mild hint of humour out of my voice. Perhaps it was finally time to start bridging some gaps, to stop letting grief hold me back.