Page 10 of Fated Protector

His smile turns into a confused frown. "Them?"

"There was a second monster. I heard it."

Is it my imagination, or does he look guilty? "No, I didn't see anything other than the one." He rubs the back of his neck.

Maybe the echoes inside the dumpster tricked me. And speaking of which… "Can you help me out of here?"

He comes over to the side and grips me under my arms, tugging me out. "Woo-ee, you smell like a hog house."

"It's your fault! You're the one that threw me in there."

"Kept you safe, didn't it?"

"I guess so," I admit, rubbing my nose against the peppery acrid smell of whatever substance I had been marinating in for the past few minutes. "What do we do now?”

"It's not safe to go back to the store. I'll take you to my place. I have a hide-out in St. Claude."

I clench my teeth against a groan. "That's over six miles," I say, feeling every inch of my sore feet. "Can we take the bus?"

"Ain't no bus to take us with you smelling like last week's leftovers," says Jack. I shove his shoulder playfully, and he winces. For the first time, I notice the shape he’s in. Across his thigh is a stripe of dripping dark maroon, and his mouth is ringed with drying blood.

"You're hurt," I exclaim, reaching for his thigh, finding torn denim damp with blood.

He jerks away from me. "It's just a scratch," he snaps, covering the wound with his hand.

"Oh, come on, no one actually says that," I scoff. “Now, how are we getting to your place?" If he has a first aid kit there, I can clean him up and maybe bandage whatever wounds he has if he lets me near them.

"Can you walk a few more blocks?" he asks, rubbing at his wounded shoulder.

I nod and will my feet to rally. "Let's go."

He leads me out of the alley, and I know we both look like we’ve been through a tornado–a smelly tornado, in my case. "You didn't answer my question. Did you kill them?"

He shakes his head. "I don't have the right weapons." He pulls out a silver dagger. It flashes under the flickering streetlights. "Just Lucky here."

I examine the blade carefully. "Is that real silver?"

He runs a finger along the blade and hisses. Did he just cut himself? What kind of macho act was that? But he continues, "Sure is. Most of the legends you hear about monsters and metal are somewhat true, to varying degrees. Silver kills werewolves and a few other creatures. And if you have to behead a vampire, silver is the way to do it."

I shudder, wondering what I've gotten myself into. I’m meant for questions in the boardroom, not talks of beheading. "So, what would kill that creature?"

"Well, I think it was a Grunch, but I'm not sure."

"A Grinch?" At this point, I think I’d be just as scared if a green, furry, grumpy man came at me tonight.

"No, aGrunch. Didn’t you ever hear of those as a kid? They’re a creepy kind of bastard. Usually, they don't come into the city, though. They prefer picking off people one by one, out in the less populated areas."

"Then why was he here?"

Jack sighs and shakes his head. "That is the question now, isn’t it?"

"And what kills a Grunch?" I point to his dagger. “Would that have worked?”

Another head shake. "If memory serves me, an arrow to the heart. The arrow has to be dipped in foxglove."

"Of course," I say faintly. "Why didn't I think of that?"

Jack leads me down another alley, this one with just as much refuse as the last. He stops in front of a mound of trash bags and feigns a bow. "Our chariot awaits."

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