He snapped back to the present as a computerized code was punched into a panel inside the pack’s network of caves. “Welcome, Cole,” the pre-recorded voice said as the metal door whooshed open.
The wolves in the main den were unusually silent, watching the news on the big television.
“This one is bad,” Cole said, clearly having seen the reports already. It must all be on repeat. Humans liked to do that. “It’s a child.”
“Not really,” Cain said. The witch must have made an attempt to take herself out like Tam had—before Jack could get to her. She must have failed and restarted a new cycle. Whatever she might look like on the outside, she wasn’t some defenseless street urchin.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s what the humans will think. They see a kid there. They don’t know that’s a two-thousand-year-old magic user. They don’t even believe in magic.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” A male wolf approached their circle and pushed a button on the remote. “They’ve been talking about the last letter and the new letter all day. Mara transcribed it.” The wolf handed a piece of notebook paper with careful block lettering on it to Cole. He read it and then passed the paper to Cain.
Dear Boss,
By now deep down people know it’s me. Maybe not everyone, but that will come soon enough when I reveal myself to the world in person. Eleven down, one more to go.
I’ll take the last one soon, then this bloody and unpleasant mess will be over and the humans will find out what goes bump in the night. I will lead them to freedom. They’ll know I have never been a threat to them, only to that which is unnatural. I will be their savior.
Be afraid. Your hunting of humans will end, and I will run this world while you starve in caves and crypts, hiding from the sun. The apocalypse the holy books foretold is drawing near.
I’m excited for the finale. I hope you are, too.
Yours truly,
The Cycler
Cain read the letter a couple more times. Even if they succeeded in killing Jack, even if the crazed lunatic wasn’t able to raise an army to carry out his plans, he’d planted the seed. If the humans accepted what they were seeing, the genie was out of the bottle and there was no memory wipe by vampire or demon that could put it back in again. In a way, it was amazing the secret had been kept so well this long with all the security breaches and the magic users, themselves humans. It was bound to come out eventually.
He looked up as the sound on the television got louder. The protesters were in greater numbers than before, carrying much of the same signs and a few new ones. They demanded that the vampire and demon and werewolf problem be taken care of, calling for the government to admit they’ve been lying and keeping secrets.
As far as Cain knew, the human governments had been kept just as much in the dark as every other human, but it was natural to blame those in authority. Several of the protesters wore costumes: vampire fangs, werewolf masks, demon horns. It looked like a cross between a PETA protest, Mardi Gras, and a Halloween party.
A pretty female newscaster appeared on the screen behind a desk back in the newsroom, her hands clasped in front of her. “Well, Jim, it’s certainly getting heated. This is the most interesting case we’ve had in a long time, though even if he’s not just insane, it’s hard to understand how The Cycler can justify the brutal killing of a child. Certainly that innocent little girl can’t be part of an evil element.”
The correspondent said something unintelligible that got swallowed up by the crowd around him, while the newscaster maintained her practiced look of sad concern. “I’m sorry, Jim, you’re breaking up.” She looked straight out into the living rooms of the viewers. “And now a look at the polls. We’ve been monitoring nationwide public opinion on this breaking story for the past couple of weeks, and the results of the last poll may startle you. A shocking 56% of Americans believe something supernatural is involved in this case and that The Cycler is telling the truth. 28% believe he’s lying and simply seeking publicity or suffers from mental illness, while the remaining 16% are undecided.”
“What about other countries?” Cain asked. “How do they rank in this sort of thing?”
Cole shook his head. “About the same, according to the Internet. We’ll know more tonight at the meeting when Anthony rises and speaks to the other vampire leaders.”
The channel changed again, and this time it was a talk show with three women dressed in colorful robes, sitting on a stage. A fourth woman, dressed more normally in a chic, black pantsuit, held a microphone out to her guests.
“My coven has been practicing real magic for ninety-three years now. That’s how long we’ve been together as a group.”
The host looked confused. “You mean your family has a line of witches over several generations?”
“Oh, yes, that’s true also, but I mean me, my coven—the three of us and a few other girls and a couple of guys back home. We’ve been together for close to a century now.”
“But, that’s not possible.” The microphone shook the barest amount.
“Anything is possible.” The witch held out her hand palm up, and a ball of fire appeared, much like what Cain created.
The host leaped back, looking terrified, while the cameras panned the audience for a reaction shot.
“Why would they do this? It could backfire on them,” Cain said.
Cole shrugged. “That episode aired two hours ago, they’re re-showing it. The women say they need to come out of the broom closet and that that they don’t know what The Cycler killed, but it may not even be human. It’s been outed as a hoax, though. The network is claiming it was special effects. No one can find the witches again for comments. My guess is someone at the network was threatened by something big and scary and that the witches who talked were killed. I don’t have any evidence of that, of course, but it looked pretty real to me, what do you think?”
Cain nodded slowly. “Oh yes, there is no way that was special effects. The way the fire rises out of the palm is exactly how I do it. And why would anybody make a hoax like that over something so serious?”
The demon paced. He was glad technology didn’t work in his dimension. The last thing he wanted was to be glued to a TV twenty-four-seven, watching latest developments, or watching the old ones replay on a loop.
“Well, that’s it. It doesn’t matter how much damage control is done. People have got minds of their own. We can’t box this back up,” Cole said.
“Maybe we can,” Jane said. She’d been quiet since they got back. “If demons and vamps are sent to all major influencers to backpedal on all this... If those influencers believe what they’re saying...”
“All it can do is slow things down. Not everybody will believe whatever story we feed them,” the demon said. While it was true that thrall would work on those it was used against, there was no way to create mass thrall. If there were, he’d know about it. The best they could hope for was to control the gatekeepers of the message and hope enough of the population fell in line behind it.
“A slowdown is better than nothing,” Jane reasoned. “This shit is going to get ugly, and we all know it.”