Fiction: Rescued (Part 2 of 2) (527 words)

16 Jan

When we finally came to a stop, we were miles away from the den. My rescuer handed me over to a boy who looked about seven years old.  The boy introduced himself as Stevie, and set to tending my wound with well-practiced care.  And that’s how I met my first werewolf.

Stevie had been a werewolf since he was sixteen months old, when his family had been attacked and mauled by a pack, and for some reason that no one could accurately explain, Stevie survived. The man who had saved me from the den, a hundred something year old vampire named Finn had been part of a crew sent to track the pack’s movements and clean up the mess they left behind. He had been ordered to kill Stevie.  But Finn had developed a soft spot for small children even then, and instead of killing him, whisked him away to some place safe.  He returned to his team, informed them that Stevie was dead, and no one had any reason to doubt him.  Finn carried on caring for Stevie over the last six years, helping him, but also teaching him how to fend for himself.

As Stevie tended to my wound, Finn returned to the den. He used his power, and a fair amount of money, to convince both the man he had stolen me from, and my own mother, to not come looking for me again.  My mother was happy to have the extra money since she had long been disowned from her own rich parents but still had quite expensive tastes, and the other vampire just assumed that Finn was a greedy bastard who had already killed me himself.  Regardless of their reasons, neither of them came looking for me, and I began to live my life with Stevie in the little house that Finn owned.

Stevie and Finn were the ones who named me.  Three years with my mother, and she couldn’t be bothered, I was just another meal ticket.  They named me Enid. It was Finn’s mother’s name, and it came from the Welsh word meaning life, the other gift they had given me.  Is it the world’s best name? No, and I have been teased for being an “Enid” in this day and age before.  But it’s a name that meant a lot to Finn, and he gave it to me anyways, so I love it.

For the next two years, I relied heavily on Stevie. Once a month, Finn would take me away so Stevie could “do his thing” without hurting me, but for the other twenty-seven days, it was me and Stevie, mostly fending for ourselves.  I learned how to set bones, sew stiches, and know the difference between sprains and breaks.  I learned how to make a couple of dollars go a long way as far as food and clothing were concerned.  I learned how to recognize a werewolf or a vampire after a causal glance or two just walking down the street.  I learned how to take care of myself in ways that your average person didn’t worry about until they were in their teens or early twenties.

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Posted by on January 16, 2017 in Stories


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