Free Tracking Magic: A Rylee Adamson Short Story by Shannon Mayer Page A

do you still let fear rule you?”
    I could barely lift my head, scarcely meet her eyes. “Because I don’t know anything else.”
    She smiled, actually smiled at me, for the first time. “Now we’re getting somewhere. No more fear; you must stop it from taking over. There is danger. Of course there is. There are things you need to be cautious about. But panic and fear, they will steal your will, leave you helpless. You must fight them as you would fight a physical enemy.” She paused and pointed at me. “Back to plank. We aren’t done yet.”
     
     

CHAPTER 2
     
    “ M idnight came too swiftly, especially knowing my mentor would have me up at the ass crack of dawn. My bed, the one Giselle had said was mine as long as I wanted it, was small but comfortable. The room was the same, small, the slope of the roof stealing headroom, the window leaning out over the east side of the house. But I didn’t mind. I was grateful I had somewhere to sleep where I didn’t have to fight the local bums for bed space.
    My room here wasn’t anything like my room back home with my parents. And the real reason I couldn’t sleep. I shook my head, sliding my hands around the back of my neck. No, I had to stop thinking about them like that. They were my parents when they adopted me, but the minute they thought I’d killed their daughter, their miracle baby, I was as dead to them as she was. The muscles in my chest tightened and it had nothing to do with the routine Giselle had put me through that day.
    Even now, almost a year later, I couldn’t understand how they could believe I killed her . . . then again, running away hadn’t helped my image any. I got out of bed. Sleep evaded me; no reason to keep laying there staring at the ceiling.
    Stepping out into the hallway, I padded to the stairs and peered down into the living area. The house was old, well lived in, and, for the most part, kept the constant North Dakota wind out. So very different from my old home where there had been nothing but warmth, sunshine and beaches. That being said, at least here no one thought I’d killed my sister.
    No one except that jerk of an FBI agent who had actually gotten a transfer to North Dakota shortly after I moved. Coincidence? I snorted to myself. Not likely. He thought he was pretty hot stuff, young and confident; he thought he could break the case. But I could see through him. He was an ass trying to prove himself at my expense, plain and simple.
    Making my way down to the kitchen, using the light from the full summer moon through the window to guide me, I headed straight for the fridge. I pulled out a glass container of milk and poured myself a cup, taking a gulp of the ice cold liquid. Before I could put it back, a voice startled me, making me drop the glass container, shattering it on the tiled floor.
    “Giselle, that you?”
    I put the cup down and slowly turned to face where the voice floated from. Somewhere in the shadow darkened living room. Shoot, what was I supposed to do now? Best I could tell, the intruder was a man, or at least male. And Giselle didn’t have any boyfriends I knew about.
    “Giselle?”
    I backed farther into the kitchen, my mind freezing, paralyzing my ability to even begin to plan—
    A figure shot out of the darkness, slamming into me. There was a brief image, more of an impression I got of light coloured hair and faded blue eyes, a flash in between movement and moonlight. We hit the far cupboards, the pull handles digging into my back. A glimpse of fang was all I saw before the vampire drove his face towards mine. I reacted instinctively, snapping my fist up between us, catching his jaw in an uppercut I felt all the way to my elbow.
    His teeth snapped down on his tongue, the sharp fangs severing the tip. The chunk of flesh fell between us.
    “Wha da fuck?” He screamed, hands over his mouth, blood squirting out through his laced fingers.
    I scrabbled for the closest drawer, and yanked out a heavy kitchen