Page 17 of Under Dark Skies

Layla instantly turned fifty shades of red. “Oh my god. I didn’t mean it like that.”

He waived off her embarrassment and shook his head. “It’s ok. I’m not offended, but lay off asking me to sit or roll over.”

She laughed so hard she had to wipe a tear away while Rafe returned to the closet and returned with some pretty standard fair. Jeans and tee shirts, but with one problem; they were man-sized.

Rafe unabashedly changed clothes where he stood, and gave Layla a show she wouldn’t soon forget, since he was definitely a shower not a grower. Having noticed her stare, Rafe said, “Don’t worry. We’ll have a formal introduction soon.”

The color returned to Layla’s cheeks and she tried to focus on the task at hand. “How am I supposed to wear these, smart guy?”

“Yeah, I guess those aren’t exactly your size.” He responded.

But a wave of ingenuity hit Layla and she went to the kitchen and pulled out a bread knife and started sawing at the legs, and also a belt to insert a new hole and remove some excess. It took some doing and Rafe come in with the assist pulling and tearing where he could.

The finished product were cut off jeans, which while baggy, didn’t look completely out of place. Then she tied off the long tee shirt in such a way to show her midriff.

“Damn, I wish I looked that good in my clothes.” Rafe said with a smile.

“Trust me, you’re plenty hot.” She returned the compliment.

After some final checking, they were ready to emerge and hit the street. Once outside Rafe scanned the streets in nonchalant sort of way so that it wasn’t obvious what he was doing.

“We’re going to stop at a coffee shop nearby and get a little grub.” He said while tipping his hat a little lower.

They entered the bistro and it was bustling, but Rafe knew it was actually easier to get lost in a crowd. The smells were almost overwhelming for the werewolf, especially given the empty nature of his belly. It groaned against the terrible vacancy, especially after the sweet aroma pastries filled his nostrils.

“Was that your stomach?” Layla asked in skeptical wonder.

“I’m afraid so.” He said.

In moments they were processed through the line, and were receiving their order. Rafe voraciously pulled out his egg and cheese bagel and began scarfing it down immediately. They weren’t halfway to the door when they both looked up and saw a news report.

Human law enforcement offers were clashing with werewolves in open hostility that was reminiscent of Montgomery, Alabama. As naturally powerful as the shifters were, the officers seemed to have weapons capable of dealing with their phenomenal attributes.

A news anchor, face grim, started their segment, “Los Angeles, California, was the site today of numerous clashes between metahuman activists and human law enforcement in confrontations that began to increase in violence. Identified as wolf shape shifters operating in splinter groups from the regional affiliation of tribes known as the Lycan Legacy, these metahuman activists have been recorded attacking human civilians in an effort to provoke law enforcement escalations. In response, the Mayor of Los Angeles this morning declared martial law within Los Angeles proper beginning at 5 pm tonight, and has vowed to crack down on those responsible for fomenting the violence.”

Rafe and Layla watched with open mouthed amazement, and when the clip was over the image returned to the talking heads running the show and their so-called guests. One, Presley Helms was speaking on behalf of ‘Gideon’s Torch’. An influential organization that had been gaining traction lately; it advocated segregating paranormals from humans for the safety of everyone. Basically tried to undo everything the civil rights movement had accomplished in the last one hundred years.

Presley looked like a slicked back TV evangelist and had all the polished charm of an angler fish. “These random attacks are exactly the sorts of things we’ve been predicting since the fall of the Veil and humans first becoming aware that we weren’t alone. And have been preyed upon for millennia. Martial law is a good first step but we need to go farther.”

“You can’t be serious.” Retorted Tyson Stallard. A devilishly handsome philanthropist and the TV subtitle explained was a cofounder of HOPE (Humans Opposing Paranormal Exclusion). “Unbeknownst to you sir, many of us have been protectors and champions of your race for thousands of years. These attacks are born of the same ignorance that you and your organization are espousing.”

“Easy for you to say, but from where I sit, humanity is under attack from an enemy that has been walking amongst us in perfect camouflage, and we can’t afford to waste a single moment debating the civil rights of creatures that aren’t civil.” Presley was pressing his advantage as another clip of violence played in the background.

“That’s why Gideon’s Torch is calling for a boycott of all paranormal run businesses and denying service to any known ‘abbie’ in human run establishments.”

Stallard was shaking his head and prepared to retort, but a patron reached up and turned off the television. “This is bullshit.” He said.

Still another patron two tables away yelled, “Turn it back on asshole. I want to hear what Presley has to say.”

Rafe grabbed Layla by the back of her arm and whispered, “We need to get the fuck out of here.”

On the street, it wasn’t going much better. All around them, people were getting into heated debates with yelling, and pushing. Rafe took a long drag of air through his nostrils and it lit his brain on fire. He could literally smell the adrenaline in sweat up and down the street. The precursor to fight or flight.

“I’ve never smelled this before.” He said to Layla.

“What is it?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s the beginning of a war.” They clasped hands and began running past many of the skirmishers as fast as they could.

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