Jack sat in the Charger, hands resting on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the forest beyond the village. The body in the trunk pressed down in more ways than one. Somewhere out there, the growls hadn’t started yet - but the air already tasted like copper and wet fur.

  “Can’t leave,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. The growls weren’t here yet, but he could feel them in the air. Somewhere, the Pride was circling, scenting, waiting. A faint, unfamiliar smell crept into his nostrils: ink, strange chemicals, something faintly metallic and herbal. It didn’t belong in his car. Nothing should be in his car except him and the ghosts of old oil changes.

  He rested his forehead against the steering wheel and let out a sigh. Then he looked over, and saw the witch already glancing around the interior like a kid in a candy store. “And why are you in my car?”

  Eirwen was in the passenger seat, her head swiveling around wildly as she took in every detail. “How could I not be?” she asked, already pulling down the visor. She let out a delighted gasp at her own reflection. “This creation is more than a siege engine. The spirit of this machine has matured. It’s… bonded.” Her eyes darted down to the dash. “What lives in this little compartment?”

  She popped the glove box open before he could stop her. A cascade of papers and stationery spilled out. Jack lunged, snatching the owner’s manual mid-fall like it was a holy relic, then slammed the box shut with more force than necessary. “This car is my life,” he told her, voice flat and final. “I’ve poured blood, sweat, and tears into its restoration. Don’t. Mess. With it.”

  Eirwen looked at Jack, as if analyzing him. “You’re tense,” she said softly. Her sharp eyes flicked to the forest, then to the Charger. “It's because they’re coming, isn't it?”

  Jack nodded. “Yeah. And it’s not just me they’re after. If I run, they might not catch me, but the village… they’ll hit it. Or worse, they’ll find them wandering outside.”

  Her eyes darkened. “You mean the livestock… or the people?”

  “Both,” he said flatly. “Even if I did nothing, the village’s already on their radar. They’ve hunted here before.” He clenched his fists on the wheel. “If I stay… I at least know when and where. I can prepare.”

  Eirwen nodded slowly. “Yes.” She watched him for a beat, then nodded once, decisive. “Then we prepare.”

  Jack exhaled and leaned back. He popped a candy into his mouth and rolled it slowly under his tongue, letting the sweetness quiet the edges of panic. He tapped the dash of the Charger. “Alright. Let’s think this through. If I can force them into one spot… separate the real ones from the illusions… maybe I can control the battlefield.”

  He pulled a scrap of paper from the floor on the passenger side and laid it across the dash. Pencil in hand, he started sketching. Routes. Traps. Possible choke points. The forest edge, the village square, the open dirt road… all had to be accounted for.

  Eirwen leaned over, eyes scanning the diagrams. She noticed a part of the road that had been shaded, and labeled 'Oil.' She immediately understood the implications. “You’re thinking about friction, aren’t you?”

  Jack smirked faintly, almost bitter. “If they slip, I’ll know which are real. The illusions will keep walking, but the real ones…” He tapped the pencil against the paper. “They’ll fall.”

  He reached behind the passenger seat and pulled out a can of WD-40, rolling it in his hands. “Problem is, this is all I’ve got. Slippery, mechanical, and not nearly enough. And I don’t think they’ll obligingly step where I need them to.”

  Eirwen tilted her head, considering. Then, almost casually, she pulled a small vial from her satchel. The liquid inside shimmered faintly, curling like smoke in the sunlight. “You don't need them to fall,” she said softly. “You need them to stop.”

  Eirwen uncorked the vial. A faint hiss escaped, and the liquid puffed outward, swelling into a sticky, thick mass that clung to the vial’s lip. Jack grimaced, noting the foul smell of the concoction. “Air triggers it,” she said. “The illusions will pass through. The beasts won’t.”

  Jack grimaced at the stench. “And you’re sure it holds?”

  “Of course it will stop them!” She nodded enthusiastically, her large hat flopping against the roof of the car. “It's strong enough to stop a runaway carriage or a charging bull in its tracks! Just don't get it in your hair, unless you’re fond of shaving yourself bald.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Jack tapped the dash, pencil hovering. “Alright… let’s make sure the first step costs them.” He stepped out of the car, inviting Eirwen to follow.

  Leading her to the back of the charger, Jack popped the trunk, tilting his head like he’d just unlocked a secret level. “Check it out,” he said, chest puffed.

  Inside, above the corpse wrapped in the tarp and holstered in a mount on the trunk door, was something he seemed particularly proud of. He rested a hand on it, smiling. “Thought I’d have a little fun if shit hits the fan.”

  Eirwen leaned over, eyes narrowing. “What is that? Some sort of… dwarven staff? What are those brass charms hanging off of it?” Her tone was half curiosity, half skepticism.

  Jack’s grin faltered, then slipped entirely. He looked at the thing in the trunk like it belonged to a life that didn’t fit here anymore. “You could say that. Works better than a hammer, and almost as loud as my exhaust. It's impressive if you understand what it's for,” he muttered, voice flat.

  Eirwen tilted her head, still curious. “Oh?”

  Jack sighed, closing the trunk halfway, letting the mechanism remain a mystery. “You’ll see. Or you won’t. Either way, it’s staying in my back pocket until the fun begins. Get in the car. We need to be in the village square for this to work.”

  ---

  The forest edge quivered, leaves trembling under an unseen weight. From the shadows, a low growl rolled like distant thunder, vibrating in the bark of the trees - and in Jack’s chest. The copper tang of blood hung in the air, sharp and thick, mingling with the faint, sweet stink of wet fur. It clung to his nostrils, reminding him of the body in the trunk and the lives already lost.

  The first juvenile emerged from the underbrush, with fur that shimmered like ink in water, edges curling as if reality itself bent around it. Each pawfall left a faint imprint in the dirt. Its eyes glinted faintly, catching scents and vibrations far beyond human perception.

  Behind it, the other two juveniles circled wide. They skirted the village’s perimeter, probing, testing. The forest seemed to bend under their steps, moving in patterns that Jack recognized as intelligence, not chaos.

  From the shadows at the rear, another creature waited. Large as a horse, noticeably bigger than the others, and with four horns instead of two. It was a living presence that absorbed sound. It paused, sniffing the air. The juveniles froze, tails twitching, ears alert, as if listening to instructions they couldn’t articulate. Every move of the alpha was a signal; every small sound from the juveniles was a response.

  That must be the alpha, Jack thought.

  Even before they reached the village proper, the air carried tension. The copper smell of blood hit harder now, mixing with the faint stink of wet fur and the earth itself. The livestock in the pens froze, instinctively sensing the predators. The streets seemed smaller, the buildings fragile under the weight of unseen eyes.

  The Pride spread out, circling, testing, learning. The alpha remained in the shadows, the pivot point of the hunt, letting its young probe and adapt before committing fully. One coordinated motion, one shared instinct, and the village could be overrun.

  The forest held its breath. So did the village.

  Jack set the parking brake and climbed out of the Charger, shotgun in hand.

  “Give me that sticky stuff.”

  He reached back toward Eirwen, still in the passenger seat. Cold glass met his palm as the witch passed him the bottle. He brought it close, gripping it like a grenade, thumb testing the cork.

  The first juvenile stepped fully into the open road. It did not slink. It did not hide. It walked.

  Its body flickered as it moved, the image of it snapping a half-stride to the left, then the right, then briefly vanishing altogether - only for its echo to reappear several paces ahead, head lowered, shoulders rolling in a slow, deliberate prowl. The real beast followed a heartbeat later, invisible except for the way the dirt compressed beneath its paws.

  It wanted to be seen.

  Behind it, the other two juveniles fanned out, hanging back just enough to watch. They did not bother concealing their distortions. Their outlines doubled and tripled, shadows misaligned, images overlapping as they paced in lazy arcs. One blinked out of existence entirely, its echo prowling boldly along the fence line while the real thing moved unseen through the grass. A warning. A promise.

  Jack felt his teeth grind together. They weren’t hunting yet. They were posturing.

  The lead juvenile’s echo snarled, baring too many teeth, and charged two steps - then stopped short, paws digging into the dirt as its image snapped sideways again. The real beast remained still, invisible, letting the echo do the work. Letting fear spread first.

  The other two mirrored the display. Flicker. Vanish. Reappear. Their echoes paced closer, daring him to flinch, daring him to fire.

  This isn't a fight to them, Jack realized. It's a lesson...

  The alpha remained unseen, but its presence weighed on him like lead, anchoring his spine. Jack knew they were sizing him up. And these creatures were more intelligent than they let on. They were going to kill him, and send a message to the village that it was pointless to resist.

  He swallowed, keeping his shotgun close. Every instinct screamed: don’t flinch. Don’t let them see panic. But the truth was, he was winging it. He had a plan, maybe two, and a half dozen improvised ideas. He had no guarantees.

  And yet - he wasn’t going to run.

  He adjusted his grip on the sticky vial in his hand, thumb testing the cork. The forest held its breath. The village held its breath. And Jack… Jack prepared to write his own message back.