Repose

[Stronger every day and certainly stronger than yesterday, Alyssa noticed something on this fine Sunday morning that she hadn't noticed before. If a thought could be a needle-thin hook embedded in the back of her mind, that is what this thought was. No, not a thought. A thought could move around, a thought could be rage or madness, but this was more like the ghost of some slim, probing finger. A needle-finger, a fishhook finger. And like all the best fishhooks, this one was attached to a line, an invisible fishing line that she could follow through the darkness by feel alone. She did not know how long the ghost memory of this fishhook touch had been in place, had it begun to rust? Was it a fishhook bomb set to detonate at high noon and turn her into a sunburnt goldfish with no bowl? Somebody had been digging, that's what this fishhook feeling was. Seems like what Alyssa had here was a little backdoor psychic security breach. Oh, she hated psychic things. They always thought they were so clever. But, determined to let this being know that they were not as sneaky as they believed, Alyssa wrapped that psychic tie that barely bound them and poured some old time goddess strength into it, strengthening the connection so that it wouldn't break so easily. Then, she pulled on that line hard to get the person on the other side's attention.] Knock knock..

[During this.]

Um, Atticus?

[There's a ripple effect feeling for some: old, sensitive-types, the kind that can feel what it feels to be in proximity to the hunters. Wolves, vampires, it doesn't matter or it didn't matter to the old, old families in the villages of Europe to distinguish between one type of kill and the next. It turns up at the moon, a faint presence like oil sitting on the surface of water: a sensation of being seen, a faint chill and a smell of iron. It passes quickly, proximity is proximity and it leaves the woods and the town as quickly as it is felt. But it registers for those who can pick it up.]