A Holiday of Roses - Part 1

Author's Note: This is a short story based on the characters established in my current "work in progress" novel, Belly Full of Roses. The events in this story take place about ten years prior to Belly Full of Roses. If you like urban fantasy, werewolves, and shows like The X-Files or Supernatural, I think you'll enjoy these characters. As always, thank you for reading!

Baylin was still adjusting to life away from the Rose family “compound.” It had been a month since he left, and the uneasiness that came with freedom manifested as a sucking anxiety and longing for the structure of training and strict schedules. However, Baylin couldn’t imagine the luxury of sleeping in would ever get old, even if that modicum of comfort was eked out through an inflatable Craigslist mattress.

Of course, that comfort was short-lived. The bed jostled as someone kicked the side and a familiar voice wormed its way through Baylin’s ears. “Get up, the traditional holiday hunt isn’t going to hunt itself.”

Baylin groaned, his head buried underneath the covers. “Ugh. Who let you in?”

“You have roommates,” Valerie said, her tone flat and unimpressed. Even while smothered under a mountain of blankets, Baylin could practically see his sister’s crossed arms and dour expression.

“And they’re worthless, apparently, if they let you in,” he muttered into his pillow, rolling over and further cocooning himself into a chrysalis of quilts. “Go away.”

It was the following silence that crumbled Baylin’s resolve—there was no way she actually listened to and acted upon his request. Curiosity got the better of him, and Baylin poked his head out of the cover-cave, squinting bleary eyes at the foot of the bed. Valerie stood there, arms crossed—just as he thought—with a fierce yet distant stare boring straight through him. The look was unnerving, and Baylin sat up further, the plastic of the inflatable mattress complaining under his weight.

“What are you doing?” he asked. The words were slow and careful, as if even asking the question might unhinge her further.

Valerie didn’t move.

Baylin let another moment pass before he relented and ungracefully scootched his body off the half-deflated bed. “Fine. I don’t care what you’re doing, just for the love of God, stop!”

The corner of her mouth twitched as Valerie blinked once, the focus returning to her eyes. “Oh, that?” Valerie finally said with flippant nonchalance. “When you’re being a turd, sometimes I like to test out my Wolf Control on you, on the off chance it might work.” She was grinning now, satisfied.

Baylin swallowed hard. “Did it work?” The idea of Valerie controlling him like she could manipulate Wolves had never crossed his mind; the thought made his stomach churn.

Valerie’s expression sobered, returning to her typical less-than-satisfied state. “If it had worked, you’d be up and have the car packed already.”

“Thank Jeebus for Christmas miracles!” Baylin threw his hands up in mock praise before turning to rifle through the piles of clothes scattered across the bedroom floor. He settled on a pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, his favorite chest binder, and a pair of boxers that were probably clean. Probably.

Valerie raised an eyebrow at Baylin’s armful of clothing. “That’s how you’re going to dress? Denim?”

Baylin rolled his eyes and made his way toward the bathroom. He knew one of their father’s idioms was on the tip of her tongue, ready to strike, so he intercepted before she could land the verbal blow. “Yeah, yeah, I know, cotton kills. If you’re so concerned about my hypothermia risk, start packing me a bag. There’s a duffle in the closet.”

Surprisingly, Valerie didn’t protest, and Baylin heard the sounds of her starting to pack.

Apparently, she really was in a rush to get going.

“I think I’ll regret asking this,” he called as he dressed, “but what’s the weapon of choice this year?” The holiday hunt always included something extra—unique weapons, special rules, or a bag count—as if Christmas wasn’t stressful enough.

“Swords,” Valerie replied, dropping a full duffle bag at Baylin’s feet once he stepped out of the bathroom.

“Doesn’t Dad say ‘only idiots and pacifists bring knives to a werewolf fight’?” Baylin felt smug, but his smile withered under his sister’s death glare.

“Swords aren’t knives,” she growled. “Now grab your shit, we’re late.”

#

Valerie drummed her fingers across the steering wheel and glowered at the freight train as it rumbled down the tracks, the boxcars stretching in either direction for miles.

“Why are you getting so bent out of shape?” Baylin asked, digging through his bag emphatically. “We were going to be late anyway.”

“I don’t want to give them any excuse to—” Valerie couldn’t bear to finish the sentence. The holiday hunt was an opportunity to prove her aptitude as a hunter in front of all the factions of the extended Rose family. Valerie knew she was more skilled than any of her cousins, and as a team, her little family unit could out-hunt every single member of the Rose clan. Yet there was always a reason for the family patriarchs to diminish her performance; this year, she was determined not to give them that chance.

Valerie curled her lip in disdain and shifted her mindset to something more affirmative. “I’m going to win the trophy.”

Baylin stopped tearing through the contents of his bag and looked up, sympathy welling in his eyes. “That game is rigged, Val. You’re never going to—”

Valerie interrupted him, the anger in her voice heating the air around them. “This is our year, Bay. They can’t treat us like we’re inferior just because we’re—” she stopped herself short and mentally corrected that train of thought. “Just because I am a woman.”

Baylin was silent for longer than she would have liked. Valerie needed his support on this, and frankly, she missed him. Ever since he chose to leave home, Valerie felt like she’d lost her best friend. Of course, she’d never admit that to his face—the little bastard wouldn’t let her live it down. The trophy was important and winning it would prove her worth, but hunting with her brother completed something inside her that she couldn’t quite articulate.

Finally, Baylin sucked in a dramatic breath and in one great rush said, “Because you’re my favorite and only big sister, I will help you bag the nasty-ass holiday hunt trophy to improve your standing among a bunch of patriarchal dicks who would rather see you wash their skid-marked underoos than best them at werewolf hunting. Because I love you. The end.” He turned his attention back to searching through the bag.

The ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Valerie’s lips. She hadn’t lost him to the world yet. Instead of thanking her brother for his pledge of support—why show weakness?—Valerie asked, “What the hell are you looking for?”

“Finally!” Baylin held up an iPod and a cassette adapter dangling from its port. “You can thank me later for bringing the dance party.” He popped the adapter into the cassette deck and began scrolling through the tracks.

“I prefer silence,” Valerie sniffed.

“It’s going to be ages before that train is out of the way. We can’t sit here in silence the whole time; it could take years!” He was laying the drama on thick, which Valerie found equal parts annoying and endearing.

She narrowed her eyes and deadpanned, “Then I’ll be sure to find your body a peaceful resting place after you die of boredom. You can thank me later for that.”

The hairs on the back of Valerie’s neck prickled to attention as Baylin began staring at her with wide, unblinking eyes.

“What are you doing?” she asked. His face was slack and his eyes unfocused. This unnerved Valerie in ways she knew would provoke violence.

“I thought I’d see if I had any Control Valerie powers,” he explained. “Never thought to give it a try before, but since you’re being a turd burger…”

She held up her hand in front of his face to block the ocular onslaught. “Just put on the damn music.”

Baylin grinned in triumph and turned up the volume as Usher’s Yeah began blasting through the speakers. His exaggerated car seat dance moves were ridiculous, and Valerie sucked in her lips to keep from laughing.

“I changed my mind,” she said. “Just kill me now. That’ll make this trip infinitely more enjoyable.”