Weekly Free Written Scene

 

Free Write Scene

Jamie started at the cotton strewed spewing from the chairs and sofas, falling onto the glass-covered floors. Every picture in his house had been thrown from their shelves and yanked from the walls with vengefulness. The entire place held a perfume of sourness so thick it stole his breath worse than seeing five years' worth of his life lying in ruins.

“All I smell is their vengefulness.” Michael came up beside him. “Do you catch any hint of anyone?”

He didn’t need to to know who had done it. Only one man held so much disdain for him and he had no reason to do so. He was the one who destroyed their lives. Not him. He was the one that dipped his . . .

“No.”

“Any idea who would hate you this much?”

“You have to ask?” Jamie picked up a stack of stuffing, letting it fall between his fingers.

“You mean . . . Why would he?”

“He’s a bastard from Hell who can hide his scent from our kind.”

“How can he . . . Oh, right. Warlock. Forgot that.”

Warlocks and Witches were able to cast a Cloaking Spell to block their presence from all, right down to their odor. The only way anyone, Werewolf, Vampire, or other Supernatural would be able to pick them up was if they cast a spell while under the cloak. Darrel Jefferson the Fourth held to much sense to give himself away. He would be on his tenth strike with the SPD if he got caught and they knew his scent all too well. Not to mention his father threatened to disown and disinherit him if he brought more dishonorable light to their name.

“You want to call the SPD?” 

“Won’t do any good.”

He’d have to go about this in a more direct manner. A Werewolf to Warlock manner. Seemed like it’d be the only way Darrel would get the message. He’d have to be discrete about it, or he’d get himself in trouble.