Unfamiliar Territory: The Familar's Legacy, #1

Chapter 1

Midnight. The witching hour. A time when most people are tucked into their beds, or at the very least safely ensconced behind locked doors.

I’m not most people. Not by a long shot.

Instead of secure walls and windows enclosing me, I was surrounded by tall trees and overgrown brush, driving my wooden wagon on a nearly forgotten road at the base of the Hooded Mountain. The ancient forest, prolific and dense, turned the dusty road into a tunnel, with only a small break far above to allow a fraction of the light from the full moon to enter. The gloominess didn’t bother me for a couple of reasons. For starters, I had my lantern hanging on a hook to the left of me, and as it swung slightly with the motion of the wagon, it emitted a warm glow.

The other reason was a bit harder to explain.

The woods on either side of me were silent, unnaturally so. Having spent a good amount of my life in forests such as this one, I knew I should hear the nocturnal activities of various woodland denizens. Instead of crickets chirping, frogs cheeping, and owls hooting, the only sounds reaching my ears were the muffled clip-clop of Humbert, the aging dapple gray Percheron horse in front of me, and the creaking of the wagon he pulled. I remained alert in the eerie quiet, keeping all of my senses open and active.

And suddenly, I heard it. Off to my right, a good half mile away. A long, low-to-high primitive melody that could only be one thing: the howl of a wolf. It was music to my ears.

My companion within the wagon must have heard it too, for the old wooden vessel gave a great lurch to the side, nearly taking two of the wheels off the ground. The lantern swayed dangerously by my head, forcing me to lunge to the side. I pulled on the reins quickly.

Whoa, Humbert, I called. The large horse complied immediately, the rhythmic staccato of his hooves ending abruptly. His ears flicked but he remained placid as usual. Any other horse would have spooked at the sound of howls, but Humbert wasn’t easily spooked, which made him an excellent employee. He was, however, most likely annoyed at working late into the night, so I made a mental note to reward his overtime with extra honeyed oats later.

The recently stopped wagon should have been motionless, but now it shuddered violently from side to side. I set the reins down and steadied the lantern by my head as best I could while trying to keep myself balanced upon my seat. I opened the hatch to the interior behind me and surveyed the pitch-black inside.

Calm down, won’t you! I admonished the darkness within. A low deep growl answered me. I rolled my eyes in exasperation as I relatched the hatch and got down from the seat. At least my rebuke had worked, because the wagon had stopped rocking.

I smoothed out my trousers and vest and quickly stretched my back to work out some kinks that had taken occupancy during the wagon ride. Because I am short, I had to use the step of the wagon to reach my lantern, but once I had it off the hook, I made my way to the rear of the wagon.

My wagon was of simple design, basically a box with no windows. I obtained it used, so I’m not sure what its original intent was, but I’m fairly certain it had been a hearse at one time, because it was just long enough to store something approximately coffin-sized. I never painted anything on the side because I preferred not to advertise my services. I liked having the element of mystery on my side.

The back was comprised of double doors, again with no windows. They were latched, but the lock was not engaged at the moment. In the alcove above the doors was another lamp hook. It took me standing on the ladder and reaching as far up as I could to hook the lantern upon it, but I had gotten surprisingly good at that maneuver. With my hands once again free, I placed one on the latch. Intense energy on the other side radiated, just waiting to burst out.

Please don’t go charging off, I called out. Give me a moment to gather my things, at least.

A faint whuff sounded through the doors. I mulled over how to interpret the sound. Resignation, with a heavy dose of frustration? I nodded to myself, convinced of my understanding and satisfied by said sound, and slid the latch over.

I flung the doors wide and leapt out of the way as a very large, dark mass bounded out of the wagon and started sniffing the air. With my companion out of the wagon, I quickly jumped into the open back and, opening the shallow cabinet on the wall, found the silver shackles in their rightful place. I grabbed them, clipped them to my belt, slid back out, and relatched the wagon. While I doubted any thieves were out here, I also locked it. My companion regarded me with impatient yellow eyes while I did this task. He growled again, very low in his throat. This I knew was not a threat, despite its intensity, but rather a frustration over having to wait. I ignored him while I slipped the key back into my vest pocket. I was used to his impatience.

The eerie howl once again reverberated through the forest, electrifying the both of us. Meeting his eyes, I gave a nod of my head, and my companion instantly tore off into the woods. I followed.

He, of course, was much faster than me and I almost instantly lost sight and sound of him. But I wasn’t worried. We had long since worked out a system in which he would purposefully dig his claws into the ground as he ran, leaving a noticeable trail of churned detritus for me to follow in his wake. Tonight was no different. Although I had left the lantern back at the wagon and the light of the full moon wasn’t strong enough to penetrate to the forest floor, I had little problem seeing the trail of freshly disturbed dirt and leaves. After all, my night vision is better than any human’s I know.

In situations such as this, time is always of the essence. I ran along the trail at a steady pace, keeping my senses alert to avoid low-hanging branches and fallen limbs in my path. While my soft and comfortable leather boots pounded a quiet rhythm on the forest floor, the silver shackles jangled and bounced against my trousers as an accompaniment. The faint trail led upward through the forest at a mild incline, which made me thankful I was in good shape.

Perhaps seven minutes into the forest, my ears picked up the first sounds of an altercation. I quickened my pace, adrenaline sharpening my reflexes that much more. I burst through some shrubs and into a small clearing at the top of the hill, the sudden light of the full moon momentarily dazzling me. I paused to adjust to the light, panting mildly. As soon as my vision cleared, I saw I had reached my target.

Two large canine bodies took up the middle of the clearing, rolling together in fierce battle. I couldn’t distinguish who was who as they tumbled about, snarling, biting, and clawing their way to hopeful victory. As I watched, the mass of limbs separated enough for me to make out the opposing forces: one, a massive black shaggy ball of canine anger, and the other a slightly larger, grey wolflike creature whose limbs rippled with muscles. They were my cohort and our quarry—the werewolf.

I’d seen a few such skirmishes over the past year, but, like every other time, I couldn’t help but admire the form of the two components involved, especially the werewolf. While werewolves were terrifying monsters, the savage elegance of such beasts was something I could appreciate from afar. This particular individual was no different. About the size of a small horse, the lycanthrope moved with a deadly, predatory grace. Its lupine snout snarled at my companion, showing off pointed, pearly teeth in the moonlight. The limbs of the beast were a mix between canine and human: slightly longer in the back, and the front ending in what could pass as hands.

To the casual observer, it would appear to be a fair fight. I knew better than that, though. While the lycanthrope had size and ferocious strength to its advantage, the other had cunning and stamina. Already, I could discern the supernatural creature was tiring. Finally, with one last slobbery and exhausted howl, the werewolf backed away from the fight, a clear sign of surrender. My companion, however, refused to acquiesce. When the werewolf turned its back to flee, the black canine leapt onto said back and clamped his large jaws around the neck of the wolf creature.

With a mighty groan, the lycanthrope collapsed under the weight of its unrelenting tormentor. With its neck still held in the vice of the black beast above it, it gave a whimper. Shuddering once, the wolflike body began to change. It shrank into itself as hair became sparse, and muzzle, tail, and clawed appendages morphed into something much more innocuous.

After fifteen seconds, the mighty and terrifying werewolf was gone. In its stead lay a relatively hairy, yet balding middle-aged man, naked and shivering with fear as his face was pressed into the soil by the weight of the beast that still held his neck in its jaws.

I had stayed at the edge of the clearing the entire time the fight had ensued, my presence unneeded. But now it was my turn to act. I approached the scene boldly, opening the silver shackles as I went. My companion met my eyes as I advanced, and he silently shifted his body to one side to expose both arms of the man, keeping his grip on his neck all the while. Swiftly I grabbed the man’s left arm and clasped the cuff over his wrist before reaching across to do the same to his other arm, shackling them together behind his back. Only when I gave a nod did my companion release the neck, but he stayed hovering over the shaking form. The man stayed frozen for a heartbeat more before slowly raising himself to his knees, still facing away from me.

I unclasped the neck shackle and slowly fit it to the back of his slobbery neck. As I latched it with a concluding click, I spoke a memorized speech in my best authoritative voice, Edward James Collier, you are under arrest for the murders of Johnathan Meyer, Agatha Meyer, Colin Meyer, Lance Dubosse, Carlotta Henessey, and Patricia Vance, and for the wanton destruction of property in the form of three separate flocks of sheep and the houses of the Meyer family and the Henessey Family.

  Upon hearing my statement, the naked man fell forward onto his face and sobbed loudly from his prostrate position. I didn’t know, he cried into the dirt. God, please forgive me!

I am not God, nor am I one of his agents, Mr. Collier, I responded with harsh glibness. It is not my job to weigh your soul against your actions, but merely to bring you in for others to do so.

At this, the hapless man stilled a beat, and then craned his neck to the side to look up at me for the first time. He had obviously failed to notice the delicate timbre of my voice during my arrest speech, but it seemed to register with him after my second comment. He stared at me with frank confusion, then, to my amusement, terror.

"But you … you are a … who are you? He shifted his body to one side to get a better look at me. A warning growl came from behind him, and the man froze. More shakily, he asked with a slight whimper, And what is that thing?"

I get this reaction a lot. We are an unusual pair, after all. I kept my face stern and authoritative without a hint of the smile that threatened to surface and drew myself upright.

I am Cressida Curtain, professional bounty hunter, Mr. Collier. And this, I gestured behind him with a wave of my hand, is my business partner, Grimm. He is a Lycanhund.

Mr. Collier blanched noticeably in the moonlight at the breed’s name. I nodded at his reaction.

No doubt you thought them a myth, yes? As you can attest, he is very real. And he is still very angry, Mr. Collier, so I would not try any funny business if I were you.

As if to authenticate my words, Grimm growled low at the man, showing off his impressive teeth in the moonlight. The captured man flinched again, and I could immediately tell he carried no notions of funny business. This was a beaten man. He cringed and sobbed some more, resting his face on the clearing floor. I knew he wouldn’t dream of reverting back to werewolf form even if the silver shackles hadn’t been physically preventing this.

Very good, Mr. Collier, I continued. It is my business to deliver you to the sheriff of Veradale, in which the aforementioned crimes were committed. Once I deliver you our business is concluded. Now then, we have a bit of a walk ahead of us. Are your legs still sound? Yes? Good. I understand that your tussle with Grimm has left you winded, but I suspect you won’t delay us too much.

He shook his head earnestly. Grimm took two steps back to give the man some maneuvering room. Bound as he was, Mr. Collier had lost all of the grace he had possessed with his lycanthropic body, so in the end I had to grab him under an arm to help hoist him to his bare feet. Once he was steady, I motioned for him to follow my lead. With Grimm bringing up the rear, we began our trek back to the wagon.

Just another successful job.

Walking downhill with a naked man whose hands were secured behind his back and who did not possess night vision or even callused feet made the hike back to the wagon a long one indeed. My bounty was a small-statured man, but his recent diet of numerous flocks of sheep and a few people had caused him to bulk out substantially. Twice Edward Collier stumbled on the path, and twice he was saved by my quick reflexes as I turned to catch him as he fell into me. Both times I had to push him by his hairy chest back into an upright position. I found it rather distasteful, what with all the dirt and slobber mashed into his plentiful, wiry chest hairs.

To his credit, Mr. Collier did not complain during the journey, and even thanked me when I prevented his falling each time. I went slow, mindful of his condition. The night was beginning to take its toll on me, however, and I was very happy when at last I could discern the end to our trek.

Funny enough, Mr. Collier did not notice his lack of clothing until we got to the road’s edge, which was bathed in the soft glow of the wagon’s lamp. By this time, I was already on the road, making a beeline for the wagon and eager to be done with this part of the business. I stopped, however, sensing no movement behind me, and turned to see the nude man still standing at the edge of the road, trying to hide his genitalia behind a bush and blushing furiously. Even with Grimm giving him a subtle nudge with his cold wet nose on his bare behind, Mr. Collier didn’t budge.

Apparently, the presence of the light had reminded Mr. Collier of his nudity and the fact that he was in the company of a lady, even if she was a bounty hunter.

I rolled my eyes and sighed with exasperation. Mr. Collier, I am flattered by your modesty, but I can assure you that in this line of work I have seen such fare as yours, and it does not offend, nor does it tantalize me in any way. Now, there is a blanket waiting for you in the wagon, so if you please!

But he did not please. Even with the threat of the Lycan dog at his backside, he refused to move. I’m a lifelong bachelor, miss, he stated with more gumption than I had given him credit for, and I won’t add indecent exposure in front of a member of the fair sex, especially one so young and pretty as yourself, to my list of sins.

In the end, I retrieved the blanket from the wagon and walked it over to the man, making sure not to offend his sense of propriety by keeping my eyes on his face. I made sure to give him my best glare as I wrapped the blanket carefully around his midsection, taking care to make as little contact with his skin as possible. Now that he was properly covered, Mr. Collier offered no more resistance and meekly followed me to the wagon and clumsily climbed into the back.

I took the lamp off its pole and placed it on a hook inside the wagon, illuminating the interior. The unfortunate man had already hunched himself into a corner where a plush mat was placed.

I must inform you that Grimm will be riding in back with you, I told him with a touch of gentleness. As long as you behave yourself, I guarantee no harm will befall you while you are in our care.

He said nothing but nodded without looking at me. A barely discernible whimper escaped his lips. The paunchy man had started to shiver, now that his lycanthropy had been temporarily nullified by the silver shackles and his blood had cooled to a human temperature. Mr. Collier, naked and trembling, with filth covering his body and his head hanging low, looked quite pathetic. I fought a pang of sympathy for him before recalling the many people he had killed and eaten in various murderous rampages during the three nights when the moon was fullest.

I turned and met Grimm’s eyes. Soundlessly, the black dog jumped into the wagon. I studied my partner for a second, checking for noticeable injuries from the fight. Nothing stood out as obviously wrong and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Satisfied with my quick inspection, I latched and locked the double doors, and then hoisted myself into the driver’s seat. Humbert, who had been snoozing patiently during our absence, shook his head once and started to move the instant my hands got a hold of the reins. He knew where to go; the reins were nothing more than a symbolic gesture.

I sighed heavily and leaned back against the wagon, letting my mind wander and my senses relax a bit. The pockmarked road led us on a slow decline, the density of the trees starting to thin as we descended altitude. It was very early morning; sunrise would occur in a handful of hours. It had been a productive night, but we weren’t finished yet. I could only hope that the sheriff of Veradale would handle things efficiently so that I could collect our reward, drive to a secluded spot, revert to my true form and purr myself into a deep and deserving sleep.

Oh yes, I forgot to mention—I’m a cat.

Chapter 2

The world I live in is not the same as yours, but rather a sister dimension. Being such, there are many similarities, true, but vast differences as well. One of the biggest differences is the fact that in my world, magic exists, and things that are regarded as myths and legends in your realm are very real here. Werewolves and vampires? They are ordinary nuisances here, and the only reason other dimensions even know of their existence is that on occasion our worlds can connect. For instance, about a hundred years ago a man from your world opened a temporary gateway to mine and for some reason gifted us with free energy. That man, Tesla, sure changed our world in a big way.

As it is, we still don’t have much use for highly advanced technological capabilities because some of the population is gifted with a variety of magical talents, some small, some big. These talents can often replace the need for technology; why invent a fancy icebox when you can use an enchanted entropy-free box to keep your groceries fresh? Or what use is there for heavy farming machinery when some people are gifted with plant manipulation? The types of magics are as varied as the people who wield them: spell casting, enchanting, elemental magic, mind magic, and innate magic, just to name the common ones. Magic is simply a way of life here, and magic users of all types live side by side with the mundane. It’s usually no big deal.

But on occasion, magic can be a very big deal. Let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time, approximately five hundred years ago on the eastern coast of Vinland, there lived a witch of frightening power. She was known as Annie Coddle, and her reputation induced fear in even the bravest of souls. Annie did not use any of her magical ability to benefit anyone else, but rather for her own interests.

Now, it is common knowledge in my world that witches with a certain threshold of magical talent have the ability to summon to themselves a being of energy. These beings, once arriving in our plane of existence, create a body for themselves, which always takes the form of a small animal, house cats being the most popular model for some reason. These beings are known as familiars. Annie had power in spades, and so it took her no time at all to summon her own familiar, a cat spirit by the name of Glivver. Now, familiars are usually emotionally attached to their witches, protecting them from unwanted attention and aiding in their spells. Annie, though, was into cheap labor. Instead of treating Glivver as an equal or protector, the witch swiftly downgraded the familiar’s status into nothing more than a slave.

There is only so much that an ethereal cat can do around the house, even with magical talent, and Annie wanted Glivver to do all the dirty work, quite literally. So, the old witch devised a spell that turned Glivver into a human woman at Annie’s will. That way Glivver was forced to do all the cleaning, cooking, ingredient gathering, and basic spell preparations while Annie focused on her one and only aspiration: world domination.

The witch proved to be quite adept at the one thing she set her mind to. Annie Coddle quickly turned her small corner of the country into a hell hole. Magic users began to die of mysterious circumstances and mundane people lived in fear of enslavement and harsh punishment. Crops withered. Even the mighty forests began to die as Annie’s influence over the natural realm stripped the trees of their organic magic. And her evil influence spread ever wider and at an alarming pace.

But there was one little detail that she overlooked.

To say that Annie’s relationship with her familiar was an unhealthy one would be an understatement. Glivver despised Annie from the moment the witch first forced her into a woman’s body. While in this state, the familiar was stripped of her powers and vulnerable. To make matters worse, Glivver was hardly ever allowed to revert to her cat form as Annie kept her constantly busy. This angered Glivver to no end. But Annie, bent on enslaving the planet, was too busy to notice her slave’s feelings.

One day, as the witch perfected her immortality potion (for what fun was ruling the world if you had to die some day?), Glivver made a simple potion of her own. Annie swiftly finished her recipe, unaware of her familiar’s goings on, and, feeling generous, allowed Glivver to change back into a cat. This was the moment Glivver was waiting for. While Annie Coddle ladled her precious potion into a mug and began to sip it ritualistically, Glivver murmured a few words over her own concoction and activated its magical qualities. Then, as Annie tipped the dregs of her potion into her greedy, wide-open mouth, Glivver propelled her potion into the witch’s face. The majority coursed down her throat.

The results, they say, were fantastic, but I don’t know the specifics.

What I do know is even though Annie Coddle managed to drink enough of her potion to achieve everlasting life, Glivver’s actions banished her to another dimension where she could no longer do harm in this world. Before she left, Annie vowed she would find a way back from her banishment and finish the job she started. Glivver was no dummy—she knew Annie meant what she said. So, she used a little-known tool that familiars possess to create a prophecy:

"By Glivver’s blood the witch is bound,

By Glivver’s word the witch must obey,

So long as the daughters of Glivver remain,

So long as the cat that walks as a woman lives,

The witch Annie Coddle can never return."

Glivver, sacrificing the last of her power, stole the shapeshifting spell from Annie and internalized it, successfully allowing Glivver to change from cat to human and back again at will. Aside from this new magical ability, Glivver lost all her power. She ceased to be a familiar and became a mortal cat. It was the price to pay for freeing the world of evil tyranny.

Despite the amount of abuse Annie Coddle had heaped upon Glivver, the witch had kept her familiar a fiercely guarded secret. Nobody knew of her existence, either as a cat or a human. Glivver could not have waltzed into society as a mortal cat, for no one would have been able to understand that Annie was truly gone. No, Glivver needed to access her human side, which was why the shapeshifting spell was worth her immortality.

She wasted little time in setting out in her human form to spread the word of her successful banishment of Annie Coddle. Changing her name to Gilva, she claimed to be the powerless slave of the witch who happened to be lucky enough to learn of a way to dispose of Annie during her imprisonment. Her story spread far and wide, and it wasn’t long before the heads of state lauded her as a hero.

It also wasn’t long before men came out of the woodwork to ask for her hand in marriage, for Gilva’s human form was quite lovely to look upon, and her status had skyrocketed. Popularity and beauty made her quite the catch, but love wasn’t exactly a factor in any of these proposals.

Gilva, of course, knew that the prophecy required her to bear offspring in order to keep Annie at bay. What she didn’t know was that sometimes prophecies take on a life of their own and form some of their own rules. In this particular case, the requirement was that Gilva could only procreate with a man that was her one true love.

It didn’t happen overnight, but eventually Gilva did indeed find a suitor worthy of the title. She married him and had a very happy three months with him before learning the next rule.

Since she was a cat first and foremost, it was of the utmost importance that she revert back to her true form every now and then. This was of