“Ok, so, first question-“

  “We’re here.” Coyote cut Scritch off just in time to get him to pay attention. The first thing Scritch noticed were the buildings. It wasn’t like the place he called home. This land had such massive structures that they seemed to touch the heavens. Coyote called them ‘skyscrapers’ but he assumed that was just a name. He never believed he’d be proven wrong so objectively. Then again, he’d been proven wrong dozens of times already. His patchwork of knowledge was at best unpredictable.

  “You said this place was across the ocean!”

  “It is.” Coyote’s answer was as curt as ever. Scritch slumped his shoulders and slowly turned to face her. She tried to ignore it, closing the door behind her. One of the things that bothered her about Scritch was that he didn’t have eyes but she always got this weird feeling when he was staring at her. Was staring the right word?

  “You know how we walked through the building for a while?” she continued. Scritch nodded his head. Well, that was what she assumed. It could have easily been him shaking his head no. All she knew for certain was that his shoulders moved a little. It didn’t really matter at this moment so she resumed her explanation.

  “We walked that long to get lost. Now we’re in a location Nakutama and I are familiar with. Hence, we’re found. Get it?” This time Scritch remembered his headlessness and flashed her a thumbs up. She knew he wasn’t going to just be happy with that, despite the affirming action.

  “Ok so that’s why I was allowed to ask you personal questions while we traveled?”

  “Yes.”

  “So I’ve been swindled.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I deserve to know where we are, at least.”

  “No.”

  “You’re doing that thing where you only use one word again.”

  “You’re doing that thing where you ask too many questions.”

  “I feel as if my present geographical location merits some importance.”

  Coyote sighed. “If you knew where we were, you wouldn’t be lost. If you’re lost, then Nakutama can take you someplace you’re familiar with. You just have to find and open a wooden door. You’re our ticket home.” She kept her gaze locked in his direction. He’d stopped paying attention again. She couldn’t blame him. This was an impressive city to be for someone who’d never left home before. Or who hadn’t even been around the block.

  The buildings, both big and bigger, stretched for miles. Each one’s faded gray stonework became foggier as the distance between them and the horizon shortened. It seemed an urban labyrinth lay before them, yet even the most massive of those puzzles couldn’t hope to contain this many people. People that barely outnumbered the cars and various wheeled vehicles they used to trolley themselves from location to location. It was enough to paralyze even the talkative hunter-in-training. Not for long, though.

  “This place is enormous!” Scritch shouted. He jumped back a bit, remembering where he was. They were on a small roof, if you could even call it that, right above a bustling city street. His body shifted between facing Coyote and the street.

  “Are you wondering why no one looked up?” she asked, a smarmy little smirk on her lips. It took Scritch a moment to register her question. After all, a smiling Coyote was quite the rarity.

  “Yeah,” he sputtered, remembering he’d forgotten to answer. “Not even a glance.” Coyote approached the edge of the roof and stood on its precipice. She looked down at the hundreds of oblivious souls continuing on with their lives in the most mundane manner.

  “During the day, the barrier between our world and theirs is thick. We can affect the world physically but we’re seldom seen or sensed. Even our effect on the environment and the world around us minimal unless we’re trying to engage with it.” As if escaping his follow-up question, Coyote crouched briefly before flying high into the air. No flips, tricks, or fancy maneuvers. She went high up and fell straight down. Despite her impact, the car she landed on didn’t react in the slightest. It simply stayed in place, idling quietly and unbothered by the woman standing atop it.

  Scritch understood. He jumped from the roof as well and landed on a similarly-designed car. However, he lacked the grace of Coyote in this untested field. His foot slipped and his body smashed against the car with a sickening crack. Coyote winced, heading over to his side to check on him. Scritch raised his hand to stop her.

  “My body will heal,” he gasped. “But my pride? No.”

  After his drama and self-healing was over, they were on their way. Coyote was telling Scritch that he’d have to get used to walking through people. Scritch agreed verbally, but he didn’t have much to get used to. His body remembered the sensation of touch, but he’d already gotten used to things passing through where his head should be. The sensation he felt when passing through people was similar to that. It was akin to gently sliding one’s own hand against the grain of a freshly-cut plank of wood. He didn’t like it, but it made sense. At least to him.

  “If we can’t touch them and they can’t touch us, then why are we even here? Isn’t this guy a human?” Scritch’s observation was sound. They’d been sent to this location for a purpose. They were hunting a human that had been creating werewolves. Though they’d gotten to calling them ‘werecreatures’ given that they weren’t limited to just wolves. Nakutama’s godspawn, the blue imps, had come back with reports ranging from werebears and werebison to wererats and the long-named weremongoose. Scritch had suggested that they just call it a weregoose, but Coyote dreadfully informed him that was already taken.

  “Once a human reaches a certain threshold of magical power, they can interact with us. Day or night. At night they don’t have much of a choice.” The way she said that made him feel icky. “That’s why wards and crystals are needed to fend off invading spirits.” That made sense. He remembered Coyote mentioning that the Earth was here long before even the gods.

  “Ok so then…” Scritch’s voice trailed off as he looked around. He spied a cart full of colorful toys. It was easy to spot given that the world around them was only varying tints of gray. He pulled a ball out of the cart without the owner noticing and began waving it around in the air. Coyote crossed her arms as she watched her protégé perform an interpretive dance about the folly of distractions.

  “So they just see a floating ball right?” He continued his dance, waving his magic ball in the faces of any passersby bold enough to cross him. “Ohhh behold my magic ball! Be wary of the magic that surrounds you!” Coyote had to admit this was at least slightly humorous. Though not for the reasons he thought. She put a hand on his shoulder and shook her head. Scritch’s dance slowed before stopping altogether. His torso slumped a bit in disappointment. Coyote sighed, as she often did with the headless blabbermouth.

  “Once you said it was yours, it left their realm. You took it without him seeing it, so he couldn’t contest it.”

  “Even if I do this?” Scritch squeezed the ball and was immediately blinded. “Good god in heaven why is it so bright? I can’t see anything. Who decided this was for kids? Why does the toymaker hate kids?”

  “Yes, Scritch, no one can see you,” Coyote grunted, shielding her eyes from the miniature sun Scritch held in his hand. “Even with your extremely bright and annoying toy that you won’t turn off.”

  “I’m trying I’m trying it’s broken or something I don’t know I’m panicking can we just, ohp, nope. There we go. I got it.” In the panic of being blinded Scritch didn’t think to simply squeeze it again. He wouldn’t tell Coyote that. He’d hate for her to think less of him.

  She pulled him to the side, heading through the crowd and towards a particularly glistening skyscraper. Scritch had plenty to mull over as they walked into the building. They had to wait for someone else to open the door, but given that it was in a perpetual state of welcome they didn’t wait long. The elevator was even easier. The doors were opening and closing at every floor. They didn’t even have to push the button for the twentieth floor.

  “They can’t hear us either, right?” Scritch looked around quizzically. No one had turned in his direction when he spoke, so his question answered itself. A good thing, too. Coyote’s focus was on the numbers slowly raising all the way up to twenty.

  “I want you to be extra careful, Scritch.” Coyote’s voice was easy to discern in the crowded elevator. Everyone on board had such boring and monotonous voices. They just kept talking numbers and ‘statistics’ and other jargon he would probably never understand.

  “Any particular reason?” he asked. She always told him to be careful, or at least it felt like that, but this time felt a little different.

  “Most magic users, those with real potential, are more of a slow burn. They test their powers and come under our radar as a result. This guy just came out of nowhere with a full-fledged army.” Coyote’s hand flexed instinctively. She could summon her naginata at a moment’s notice, but holding her weapon might make Scritch nervous. She didn’t want that. He needed to be careful, not worried.

  “That’s why we’re moving at day. We’ll be able to see him and it lowers the odds of him seeing us. Either way he won’t be able to act on it. He’ll look like a lunatic if he starts raving about a headless man staring at him.”

  “I don’t stare. Do I?”

  The elevator doors opened and the duo moved forward. The uncolored cubicles made the interior of the office as labyrinthian as the world outside. Just as always, Coyote moved with a certain steadfast determination. She’d either pinpointed their target’s location using magic or it was in one of her fancy dossiers she always goes on about. Either way, it brought them to an ordinary cubicle with an ordinary man sitting at an ordinary desk with an ordinary everything. Scritch groaned loudly. This whole office setting was depressing. How could anyone stand doing anything in here?

  “Well hey there, guys! I was wondering when you’d show up!”

  Scritch was immediately pulled back in from his thoughts. Did that average-looking nobody just speak to them?

  “Uh, you mean, like, us? Me and her?”

  The man nodded. Scritch didn’t like that. Neither did Coyote. Before either could ask questions, the worker pointed at a Bluetooth headset. He’d planned ahead. Did he know they were coming or had he boiled it down to a ‘just a matter of time’ scenario? In any case, even such an innocuous device complicated things for Coyote. She’d have to rethink their approach to this.

  “Yeah, I can hear you just fine.” The man’s smile was nothing short of smug. Coyote glared at him with all the ferocity of her namesake. Scritch was already gathering that things weren’t going their way. They’d lost the element of surprise, but that was only half the battle. That’s what his teacher always said. Scritch quietly assumed it was only a tenth of the battle. Maybe a twelfth.

  “Fancy doohickey ya got there, fella.” Scritch wasn’t sure why he decided on those words. The silence was far too awkward. He was usually the root cause of it or at least had a hand in these events.

  “Oh, thanks! I got it from my fiancé. Same thing with my Goku figurine.” The office drone picked up a little martial artist figurine with spiky black hair and clad in an orange gi. Scritch pointed at the toy excitedly. He glanced at Coyote and then at the figure several times. Coyote was unimpressed.

  “Dude! That’s sick!” Scritch tried to take a step closer to the cubicle to inspect the figure. Coyote extended an arm to stop him.

  “Really?” Coyote growled, turning her eyes to her protégé. “You know who Gogo is but you can’t remember how old you are?” Scritch shrunk back a bit.

  “Well, yeah. Everyone knows Goku. He’s from DragonBall Z?

  “Actually,” the office man butted in. “He’s from DragonBall. DragonBall Z is just the name of the anime series that came after its original run. It was a sign that the story of DragonBall was coming to an end, hence the Z.”

  Coyote blinked in surprise. “Are we really doing this?”

  “Oh, I actually only watched Z.”

  The man’s grip on his figurine tightened and his smile disappeared. “Of course you’d be one of those guys.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Enough!” Coyote’s voice carried the same volume and command of a mother who’d run out of patience. “The both of you! We came here to do a job!”

  “Sorry.” The boys simultaneous apologies didn’t do them any good. Coyote shook off the maternal energy, but not her tone. She stepped towards the office man and towered over him. Not in height, but in authority.

  “You knew we were coming.”

  “Yeah.” The man pushed back a little, attempting to further himself from the woman. Her orange locks were close enough to him that he could count the strands.

  “Who told you? I doubt you figured us out yourself. You’re not the type.”

  “I- uh, I can’t say. They’re sensitive about this kind of stuff.” He was obviously frightened by the woman. Scritch couldn’t blame him. Honestly if someone as commanding as her wasn’t teaching him, he probably wouldn’t have gotten this far. As stern as she was there was care in the ways she regarded him. It was far from overt, but Scritch always felt safe around her. He imagined the little working man felt quite the opposite.

  “Fine. Then when’s a good time for us to beat the information out of you?” Coyote’s question caught Scritch off guard. He didn’t really see the sense in giving him the time of engagement. He knew they couldn’t kill him here, obviously. A man passing away from stab wounds and electrical overload in the middle of a busy office space? That might turn a few heads.

  “Great Havens Park,” said the man, summoning the bluff of a confident grin. “It’s a mile due east. It’s damn near a forest in of itself. In the exact center there’s a statue of the mayor. We’ll meet there.”

  “The second the sun sets.” Coyote whipped around and wasted no time leaving. Scritch waved goodbye and jogged after her. He wasn’t sure why the interrogation was so short-lived. They didn’t really gather any information. At least, he didn’t.

  “Wait, hold on,” Scritch said, already forgetting he could move through people during the day. “Coyote! What was that? Why do we have to meet on his terms?”

  “You tell me.” Coyote pressed the button for the ground floor once inside the elevator. No one noticed the button pressing itself, but that wasn’t a surprise to either of the hunters. Scritch was too busy thinking to comment on if they should or shouldn’t be touching things anyway. He was so used to Coyote just giving him the answers. That was typically with the supernatural subjects. This was more about tactics, so she must be testing him.

  “Because he’s scared of us? And, uh, won’t meet with us otherwise?” Scritch shrugged helplessly. He wasn’t good with psychology. That much was becoming abundantly clear. Coyote shook her head to remove any doubt about his correctness.

  “It’s because we’ll win. No matter what.”

  Scritch and Coyote ventured around the city for another hour or two. They had time to kill before heading to Great Havens Park. The park was as large as their quarry described, but Coyote figured he needed remedial lessons in geography. She didn’t blame him for his lack of knowledge. Not directly, anyway. For someone who lived in a land comprised of gray buildings this might seem like more of a lush forest than it was a large park. There wasn’t any rush to arrive there early, but the senior hunter advised arriving before their quarry.

  “Just one more place! Please? Please please please?” Scritch clasped his hands together in a praying motion. He attempted the ever-faithful tactic of a child begging his mother for permission: the puppy-dog eyes. His attempt fell on deaf ears, or in this case, blind eyes. His lack of face didn’t exactly help his predicament. Nevertheless, Coyote relented.

  “Fine! Fine, just, stop whatever that is you’re doing.” Coyote motioned to the headless cadaver doing his best to look cute. Scritch pumped his fist into the air to celebrate another victory. Coyote had to remind herself that these were all new experiences for him. He’d never experienced anything like the big city. She wasn’t sure where their next job would take them. It’d be best to take advantage of the situation they were already in. Plus she wouldn’t have to hear him beg again.

  “So where are we going?” she asked.

  “I was thinking ice cream!”

  The two of them stood still for a second. Passersby walked through them, unaware of the interaction taking place. Coyote’s face twisted into a grimace at the thought of Scritch smearing the frozen dessert across his neck hole.

  “Absolutely not.”

  Scritch held up his hands in a mock defensive stance. “Not for me! Like, uh, not directly. For you! And then you tell me what it tastes like.” Coyote wasn’t too thrilled with the idea, he could tell. She glanced around the busy street as if she’d find an excuse to tell him no. She found no such thing and couldn’t think of a better excuse other than she didn’t want to.

  “We can’t just steal ice cream, Scritch.” Despite doing nothing too physically taxing, Coyote sounded exhausted. Scritch went through his pockets and pulled out a few wrinkled paper notes each denominating a dollar. Coyote’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

  “Turns out people lose dollars all the time,” Scritch said, offering his filthy findings to Coyote. “I like going through the lost and found. I’m still waiting for a jacket to be lost that actually fits me. Or that isn’t brown.” Coyote sighed deeply and took the money. She thumbed through the crumpled bills and was surprised to find enough for a single scoop. He had the money and she’d already agreed for one more stop. Why did she have to be a woman of her word?

  “Fine. Don’t expect anything miraculous. I’m not sure about how to describe flavor with any accuracy.” Coyote stopped suddenly and leered at Scritch. He stopped as well. His teacher pointed an accusing finger at him. Never a good sign.

  “If you had this money then you should have paid for the ball you stole.”

  “Hey, I’m learning, alright?”

  The two walked a few blocks down the bustling city streets before finding just the right place. It was everything Scritch had dreamed of since he first imagined what an ice cream parlor would look like. Well, except for the desaturated colors. It matched the city in its muted color schemes, but there was still enough colors to at least differentiate it from an office building. Mostly.

  “Stay put,” Coyote commanded. Scritch gave her a thumbs up, remembering his handicap. Coyote took a deep breath and raised her hand to her head. After tapping her temple three times, Scritch noticed her weaving between the pedestrians to enter the shop. She must have entered the other side of Blue Heaven given how many odd looks she was gathering. Scritch waited outside, hands pressed up against the glass while he watched her in line.

  Nothing of note set her apart from anyone else inside. She stood in line like everyone else, ordered her dessert like anyone else, and received her cone like anyone else. That didn’t stop the headless hunter from watching her with baited breath. He couldn’t explain it, but the excitement was building inside his chest like nothing he’d felt before.

  After the painful eternity of waiting, Coyote finally exited the shop. She ducked into a nearby alleyway and repeated the motions that had brought her to the physical world. Once she did, Scritch was upon her.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “So? What’s it like?” he asked excitedly.

  “Calm down,” she responded, keeping him at arm’s length. “I haven’t even tried it yet!”

  “Why’s it green? Is it moldy?”

  “It’s mint chocolate chip. Statistically the most popular flavor.”

  “Why do you know that?”

  “Do you want the damned thing to melt before I can even taste it?”

  Scritch relented, taking a step back. Coyote wasn’t sure what exactly he was going to gleam from this, but she hoped it was actually going to mean something to him once everything was all said and done. She held the cone a little awkwardly. She couldn’t even recall the last time she’d had ice cream, let alone one in a cone. Her first lick was trepidatious and slow.

  “It’s, uh… well it’s cold.” She wasn’t sure what he remembered about ice cream, so she started with the basics. “It’s mostly soft. Kind of hard but when you lick it, it kind of melts so it goes on your tongue easier.” Describing ice cream was harder than she thought. Scritch seemed to hang on her every word regardless. She continued, less cautious now that she remembered how it was.

  “Mint is kind of a sharp flavor, if that makes sense. Since it’s cold it’s kind of a lot. You can’t mistake it for anything else. The chocolate chips add a stark texture difference since they don’t soften up when your tongue runs across them.”

  “Do you have to chew it?”

  “Not really. It melts once it’s in your mouth. Kind of like ice does, but faster.” A pointless comparison, really. She figured if he didn’t know how ice cream tasted there wouldn’t be any way he’d know what ice melting in his mouth would be like. She took another few licks, trying her best to describe the flavor of mint chocolate chip to someone who lacked a physical taste pallet. After a few more minutes of their flavor-based telephone game, Scritch held out his hand. Coyote looked at him quizzically.

  “What? You want to try it?” Coyote’s voice bordered on disbelief. She didn’t mean for it to come across like that, but the whole point of this endeavor was because he had no mouth to taste food. Scritch wiggled his fingers impatiently as if that would convince her to share.

  “Well, unless you want it.”

  Coyote looked at the cone, then at her student. She wasn’t particularly fond of sweets. The only exception being vanilla-based confectionaries. Despite this, she hesitated.

  “Why?” She almost followed that question by reminding Scritch he couldn’t eat things. She decided against it. He had already made it abundantly clear he couldn’t taste anything.

  “I wanna hold it. I can still tell it’s cold. I just can’t eat it.”

  The duo walked through the streets towards Great Havens Park. Scritch held onto his prized frozen treat until it grew too melty. He disposed of it in a trash can like any good citizen would once they entered the park. Once his hands were free of frigid treats he summoned his faithful knife from the enigmatic armory. As soon as he did, his teacher looked over at him.

  “You won’t need that,” she said. Scritch’s weapon dissipated in his hand as a sign that he was taking her orders seriously. She was taken by surprise a little. He hadn’t-

  “Why? Are we gonna beat him to death with our bare hands? Kung Fu style?” Ah, there it was. Coyote shook her head. She should have known he wasn’t going to just follow orders.

  “If all goes according to plan you won’t even have to fight. I’d rather you not have to, anyway. Lycanthropes are vicious creatures in combat. The fact that you can heal yourself won’t deter them from tearing you to shreds.”

  Scritch suddenly felt a little nervous. “I don’t suppose I can wait in the car?”

  “We don’t-“ Coyote shook the thought from her head. “No, you can’t. You don’t have to worry. I can only smell one in here. I’ll take it down quick and then the summoner. You’re here mostly to observe.” Scritch flashed another thumbs up. He understood the assignment, but was quick to offer an addendum.

  “Ok so you’ll fight the werewolf and I’ll distract him by talking about Goku.”

  “If that’s what you want to do.”

  As they arrived in the center of the park, the first bits of the sun had started to hide beneath the towering structures that loomed over the city. The man stood where he said he would, right next to the statue of the mayor. He’d had plenty of time to change his attire, it seemed. Instead of business casual he was adorned in what could only be described as ceremonial robes. Long, black, flowing robes. Large sleeves where his hands poked out and an equally large hood that covered the upper half of his face. The hem of his robes draped along the ground by about an inch. Any longer and he’d undoubtedly trip over them. Despite his best efforts to look intimidating, Coyote was unimpressed.

  Alongside him was the most popular of the werecreatures: the werewolf. The heaving mass of fur and muscle stood hunched next to its master. The humanoid wolf’s ears perked up in the direction of the approaching hunters and a guttural growl rumbled from its throat. The closer Coyote and Scritch got to the summoner and his beast, the taller the werewolf stood. Once they were a good twenty feet away, it stood up to its full height.

  The growling, slobbering, hulking creature stood a good seven feet tall. Despite being covered in thick brown fur, Scritch could see muscles that flexed almost unnaturally as it continually shifted its position. It seemed restless for whatever reason. Scritch couldn’t hear it, but Coyote could. There were two growls emanating from the beast. One from its throat and one from its stomach. The summoner had kept it ravenous for this fight. An edge that meant far less than the summoner would think.

  “Ah! So the hunters finally arrive!” The man opened his arms, welcoming Nakutama’s elite team. “And here I thought you’d run back home when you realized you were no match for The Lycanthromancer!”

  The silence between the three humans lasted far too long for anyone’s comfort.

  “Who… is that?” Coyote asked, her face scrunched in confusion. The man’s arms raised a little higher as if trying to seem bigger than he was.

  “It’s me! I- I’m The Lycanthromancer! Summoner of beasts unleashed by the full moon!”

  Scritch glanced over at the sun. Then at the waxing moon. Coyote rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration. How someone this dense had acquired so much power was beyond her.

  “That’s not how that works…” she groaned. The Lycanthromancer shrunk back a bit. He redoubled his effort to intimidate and pointed at Coyote. The werewolf lurched forward into a quadrupedal position. The strings of drool oozing from its mouth were just as long as its claws, but Coyote didn’t seem to care.

  “Whether it works or not isn’t any of your business! The opinions of a dead woman don’t mean anything to me!” He took a step back and opened his arms once more. “Go, my monster! Tear her to shreds!” The werewolf’s howl echoed through the thick wooden confines of the forested park. Its battle cry didn’t have time to scatter into silence before it was charging towards Coyote. Its size belied a stunning speed but nothing that impressed the hunter. Scritch scrambled out of the way as Coyote engaged the beast.

  It roared another battle cry, swinging an elongated arm at its would-be prey. Coyote stepped forward in the most lackadaisical manner, ducking slightly and evading the attack without so much as ruffling her hair. This simple maneuver put her in exactly the right place to begin her assault. A few jabs to the chest, an elbow to the neck, and then a knee to the gut. The werewolf collapsed to the ground, but it didn’t stay there long.

  While the wolf and Coyote traded blows, Scritch sidled up next to the beast’s trainer. The Lycanthromancer paid him little mind at first but the headless blabbermouth soon became too vocal to ignore.

  “You know when she’s done kicking his ass she’s gonna come after you, right?” Scritch nudged the robed man. The Lycanthromancer’s head turned to look at the hero. He seemed none too pleased with the insinuation. More than that, he seemed unbothered by the question. Scritch figured that was a poor decision. He didn’t know many people but he knew power when he saw it. Something Coyote had in spades.

  “She’s not going to win. My monsters have a powerful healing factor added to them. She can’t hurt them in a way that matters. Any wound dealt will heal. Even the-“

  Scritch wasted no time relaying the information to his partner. “Coyote! They regenerate!” The magician gnashed his teeth and shoved Scritch in response. The hunter stumbled back. Scritch looked at his chest in disbelief. Was he just shoved by a wizard? Impossible.

  “Dude! Shut up! You can’t tell her! That’s cheating!” The summoner stepped forward, challenging Scritch.

  “Then don’t tell me your plans, idiot!” Scritch stepped forward, accepting the challenge.

  “You’re the idiot, you headless freak of nature!”

  “I’m not an idiot! Coyote says I read at a twelfth-grade reading level!”

  The Lycanthromancer finally reached his limit with Scritch’s nonsense. With a less-than-threatening shout, the robed man tackled Scritch. They both crashed to the ground, rolling around in the dirt and exchanging punches that would be considered an insult to any formal martial art.

  “Eat dirt, nerd!” Scritch shouted, shoving a handful of loose earth into his foe’s face. The man sputtered, but refused to give up. He grabbed Scritch by the collar and began shaking him. Scritch retaliated by slapping the summoner in the face. The Lycanthromancer refused to take that, biting Scritch on the hand. Our hero let out a painful shout and clubbed his foe over the head with a closed fist. When that failed to yield any meaningful results, he resorted to poking the man in the eyes. His dreaded foe yelped, releasing his quarry’s hand from his mouth.

  The schoolyard assault continued for some time until the sound of thunder caught their attention. Coyote stood a half-dozen yards away from them, holding the charred corpse of a werewolf by the scruff of its neck. She examined them both, shaking her head in disbelief before dropping her latest kill to the ground.

  “Keeping a summoner busy make fighting their monsters much easier,” Coyote said, grimacing at the two grown men wrestling in the dirt. “But this is embarrassing. Even for you.” Scritch jumped off of his prey. It wasn’t exactly a proud moment for him. Despite doing his job with aplomb he still felt rather silly. He dusted himself off as The Lycanthromancer slowly rose to his feet.

  “I was gonna throw knives at him! Really! But he shoved me and, uh, things got out of hand.” Scritch shrugged shamefully. Coyote shook her head in response. She’d done a good job of teaching him survival skills so far. There was still much to learn, it seemed. They’d have to work on fighting techniques next. Anything was better than whatever she just witnessed.

  “I’m not done yet!” The Lycanthromancer’s hands clapped together. Coyote rolled her eyes and summoned her weapon again. She pointed it at the summoner and shook her head.

  “You’ve obviously got some magic. It’s powerful, I’ll give you that. But I’m out of your league. Lower your hands before-“

  “Active Gravesite! Release!” The should-be amateur’s hands glowed with an eerie dark-blue energy. Coyote’s eyes widened in disbelief. Lightning crackled beneath her feet before she charged forward in a desperate attempt to stop the magic. An attempt that proved futile as her hand struck the coffin of earth now between himself and the hunter. Her hand penetrated the stone lid to the coffin and found purchase on what lied inside.

  “Dammit!” Coyote cursed, trying to pull her hand out. “Scritch! Stop him!” Scritch’s attention was torn away from Coyote and back to The Lycanthromancer. Unfortunately, the student proved far slower than his teacher. In the time it took him to summon his weapon, thirteen additional coffins had come out of the earth. Their locations were sporadic and spaced out but hid their controller from Scritch’s view.

  “You really thought I’d challenge you with a single werewolf?” The summoner grinned in that smug and condescending way that drove Coyote mad. “They told me you were a fierce opponent! So I got a little extra trick. It was supposed to stop you from sensing any backup and it looks like it worked perfectly!” Each coffin began to shake and tremble before dropping their lids. Coyote finished pulling her hand out just in time to get out of the way of the one she’d punched a hole through. Her hand was covered in blood. A lot of it. When the werebison stumbled forth from his makeshift cage, Coyote understood why she hadn’t made it further.

  A grand total of fourteen werecreatures stumbled forth from the coffins. They ranged in size from the smallest figure, the wererat, to the imposing giant that was the werebison. Many of the creatures Scritch recognized from books and TV. There were the more common ones, if you could call them that, such as the werebear, wererat, weretiger, and even two more werewolves. There were a few he had to guess at. One had to be a weremole, the tall and skinny one had to be a weremongoose, and the dull brown werecreature with the big eyes was most likely a weremeerkat.

  The rest of the entourage was quick to take a backseat when Scritch located what he’d been searching for. Pristine white feathers, a vibrant orange beak, and eyes that were overflowing with hate, malice, and bloodlust.

  “The weregoose…” he whispered, his voice wavering in awe. “It’s real…” The weregoose didn’t appreciate the headless figure that said its name with such reverence. Its muscles bulged and its head reared back, facing the sky as it let out an earth-shaking honk. With its war cry still echoing in Scritch’s soul, it attacked. Scritch didn’t even have time to move before the muscle-bound monstrosity slammed its body into the hunter’s. The bone-jarring tackle sent Scritch flying off his feet and crashing into the trees behind him. The wood groaned in effort to keep itself upright. Scritch groaned right alongside it.

  “Let loose the dogs of war!” The Lycanthromancer’s smug grin had extended into a full-blown smile. “The rest of you! Attack the lightning user!” The werecreatures scattered to attack Coyote on all sides. She grit her teeth and bolted straight forward to attack the source of their issues: The Lycanthromancer. The summoner smiled in contempt and lazily flicked his wrist as if shooing off her assault. Coyote was immediately intercepted by a yellow-furred brown-spotted speedster. Undoubtedly a werecheetah, chosen for its blinding speed. Coyote came to a screeching halt and narrowly avoided deadly claws the size of knives.

  “Scritch! Hold on! I’m coming!” Coyote shouted. Keeping her momentum, the hunter spun on her heels and swung her naginata. Before her rotation came full circle her footing crumbled along with the earth beneath her. She only had a moment to refocus and dart to the side as a werebadger erupted from where she was standing. She cursed silently and retreated backwards to gain distance from her pursuers. She found no relief there, either. A loud croak was all she had to go on before deciding that backwards wasn’t the way to go. No matter where she went, some manner of abomination was there to greet her.

  “Well well! Look at her go! Looks like you just can’t keep up!” The Lycanthromancer laughed, commanding his army from a safe distance. His arms swung rhythmically like a conductor’s while his monsters moved in time. Coyote launched off small attacks here and there but wasn’t allowed a moment to let loose an attack to do any lasting damage. The only wounds inflicted against the mob were superficial and ineffective. The healing factor imbued into each monster could be overcome in single combat. Unfortunately, her foes were too numerous, too fast, and too resilient to let her get a leg up. If they were less organized or even if the environment allowed her to beeline, she would have had an easier time. There were far too many factors working against her to be a coincidence. She knew that much. This encounter wasn’t planned by anyone present.

  The only creature not engaged with Coyote was the weregoose. Scritch had the distinct honor of facing it in one-on-one combat. Though he didn’t fair much better than his teacher. Scritch’s body was flung around like a ragdoll and smashed into trees, bushes, rocks, and the tacky statue of the mayor.

  “You know, I don’t even have to kill you.” The Lycanthromancer glanced down at Scritch, who had been thrown at his feet. “I just find you really annoying. Killing you is gonna be a lot of fun for me.” Scritch had quite the retort, but it would stay with him. His words were kept inside him as the impact of the weregoose’s fist pushed him into the earth. Again and again, Scritch was pummeled against the solid ground until he was lying in a small crater perfectly sized just for him.

  “No comebacks? Nothing annoying to say this time, scrub? I-“

  “It’s Scritch…” mumbled the headless hunter. The summoner glanced down again, peering into the half-inch crater in the earth. Scritch peeled himself off of the ground, standing once more. His foe looked at him for a second before turning his attention back to Coyote.

  “Scritch. Alright. I’ll make sure to scrawl it on your tombstone.”

  “Can you put ‘Goku’s #1 fan’ above it?”

  The Lycanthromancer grimaced and turned his attention back to the man with one foot in the grave. His hands flexed into fists, but not for long. The summoner took a deep breath and composed himself, making sure he could focus on keeping the more skilled hunter at bay with his regenerating army.

  “You’re not gonna get under my skin. I’ll just have the weregoose tear you apart until there’s just scraps. Then I’ll have the others come tear you up until there aren’t even scraps of you.” He looked straight forward, focusing his vision. “Just like Buu.”

  “Who’s Buu?”

  The Lycanthromancer whirled around to face Scritch fully. “Dude, really?! You didn’t even finish Z?!” The man’s arm swung wide in front of him, signaling the weregoose to attack once more. The horrid creature tackled Scritch with all the rage of its creator. Once the attack found purchase, Scritch swung his knife into the beast’s neck. It honked with a mix of pain and unbridled fury before flailing its long neck around. The headless hunter landed a few punches to its beak before the beast did the same to Scritch’s stomach. Repeating his attack would likely do him little good. Instead, Scritch summoned a second blade to drive into its collarbone.

  The only thing louder than the weregoose’s honks of pain were The Lycanthromancer’s expletives. Scritch knew he was shouting something about DragonBall Z, but that didn’t matter now. His own healing factor was battling against the weregoose’s. Strategy wasn’t his strongpoint but he had to think of something. He didn’t have lightning bolts like Coyote and he couldn’t summon inhuman strength like Lala Tiara. He could only work with what he had and what he had was slowly dwindling.

  He noticed his breath was growing heavier as his body tried to keep up with the fight. Fatigue was a foreign sensation to him. He’d never broken a sweat or even had to catch his breath while running across rooftops with Coyote. It didn’t bode well for him that his body was finally deciding to give in to exhaustion. All he knew is that he had to keep fighting. Coyote was holding her own against at least thirteen specially-designed beasts. He was losing against a roided-up avian with anger issues. He needed time to think, time to-

  “Finish it!” the angry little nerd shouted. “I don’t want to hear another goddamn word out of his mouth!” Magic coursed through the veins of the weregoose. Its pupils dilated to an almost imperceptible speck. Its muscles bulged in a grotesque manner, swelling to the size of watermelons. Its master imbued it with the strength necessary to finish the fight for good and even a bit more.

  The weregoose grabbed Scritch by the shoulders and sunk its fingers into his flesh. With one last terrifying show of strength, the beast began to pull Scritch apart straight down the middle. The headless hunter’s screams of agony filled The Lycanthromancer with delight while simultaneously catching Coyote’s attention.

  “Scritch!” Coyote’s eyes widened in horror as she watched her student get torn in half with the same ease one would have tearing a sheet of paper. Straight down the middle, ending at his belly button, Scritch’s body gave out. No longer were there screams of pain, clever comebacks, or even a twitch of his fingers. Coyote had seen Scritch take some serious punishment, but this was something different. She’d failed to protect him. Her protégé had been torn in half right before her eyes due to her overconfidence. She had no way of knowing if he’d come back or not. Could his healing factor handle something that severe? Was this too much punishment for him to bear?

  She wasn’t allowed even a second to mourn. The werecreatures were on her in a second, now with an additional member. The summoner laughed and wiped his brow. He wouldn’t mourn the fallen hunter. Not even for a second.

  “Finally,” he mused. “Peace and quiet. Now let’s see if your death knell is as loud as his!” Coyote grit her teeth and tightened her grip on her weapon. She was desperate to keep her cool despite losing her charge. Her anger built slowly as she moved through the trees. She couldn’t shake the image of her protégé being torn in half. She was supposed to protect him. She was supposed to be teaching him and now-

  “Goddammit!” Coyote’s foot slipped on an uneven branch. The werecheetah caught up to her in the split-second it took her to rebalance and raked its claws along her back. Before she could find her footing to escape, a werecrow dived down and slammed her back to the ground. Before she could even stop seeing double, the creatures advanced on her. Claws, fangs, talons, tails, and spikes tore at her body before she could push them back with a bolt of lightning centered on herself. She was far from immune to lightning but it beat the continuous pummeling of the monsters. It gave her enough of an opening to gain a little distance. She knew that only put her back to square one.

  Exhaustion was beginning to weigh her down. The damage she was taking was straying farther from flesh wounds and bruises. That dogpile had given her more than a few wounds that would need immediate attention. Attention she couldn’t spare at the moment. The laugh of The Lycanthromancer echoed in her ears. Loud, taunting, demeaning, reminding her that the battle was far from being over. She just needed a moment of clarity. A way to get these things off her back if only for a moment.

  “I guess it’s time to bust out the finishing move!”

  Both The Lycanthromancer and Coyote turned in disbelief at the voice of the headless hunter. Scritch stood on the statue’s shoulders. He jabbed his thumb to his chest before giving the summoner the middle finger. It wasn’t clear whether the man was enraged by Scritch’s rude gesture or the fact he appeared to be good as new. No matter the cause, The Lycanthromancer looked as if he were about to have a blood vessel burst.

  “You! You regenerating degenerate! Why the fuck are you still hanging around?! How the fuck are you still hanging around?!” The expletives continued, but neither Coyote nor Scritch paid them any mind. Coyote was in complete disbelief that her pupil was standing. It’d taken him longer to regenerate from a broken spine. Had he mastered his healing factor in such a short span of time?

  “Scritch!” Coyote shouted, feeling her spirits rising. “Scritch! How are you still standing?!”

  Scritch did not respond to any of the words thrown in his direction. Not in the way he usually did. He made a sound as if he were taking a deep breath and gently bent his knees. His arms moved slowly until they were outstretched in front of him, wrists touching one another, and then transitioned gently to rest right next to his hip.

  “Ka… me…”

  The Lycanthromancer grit his teeth. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare.” A brilliant blue light came to life between Scritch’s hands. The summoner’s eyes widened in disbelief. Fury and confusion coursed through his head as he watched Scritch prepare the most prolific finishing move the world had ever seen.

  “Ha… me…”

  “Stop him!” The man shouted, stamping his foot and wildly gesturing in Scritch’s direction. “You bunch of idiots! Stop him! Stop him! Kill him! Kill him kill him kill him!!” Each of the monsters turned their violent focus onto Scritch. They surged towards him in a frenzy, tripping over each other in a bid to be the first to obey their master. They moved faster than Scritch expected, but it didn’t matter. He’d done everything he needed to.

  Scritch’s body leaned back as his arms extended outwards towards the horde. “HA!!!” His body was removed from the statue and buried beneath a pile of monsters. Strangely enough, the attack he’d been charging up fell to the ground. It bounced onto the dirt and continued shining brightly, much to the confusion of The Lycanthromancer. He shielded his eyes from the intense light and walked over to its source.

  “A ball…?” he muttered, picking up the remnant of Scritch’s last stand. He squeezed it tightly and the light disappeared. A slow chuckle found its way out of his throat. He shook his head and observed the pile of beasts actively tearing apart the empty-headed nuisance he’d grown to despise so thoroughly.

  “Of course. I shouldn’t have believed someone like you had mastered the Kamehameha Wave. Turns out you really were just an idiot all this time.” The Lycanthromancer laughed and bounced the ball on the ground. His laughter stopped the moment he felt a hand around his neck. In that instant, it became clear to him what had happened.

  “I am Coyote of Blue Heaven.” Her voice was quiet, soft, and filled with enough venom to make the summoner sick to his stomach. “And you are my prey.” The crash of lightning was heard throughout the city. It shook the earth and lit up the sky. There was no death knell from her victim. No final words, no dramatic scenes, simply an absolute removal from this plane of existence. All that was left of the man would be ashes quickly scattered to the wind.

  With their general gone, the squadron of werecreatures fell into disarray. Hunting down the last of them and likewise dispatching them was easy work for Coyote. Over a dozen charred corpses littered the park. The bodies were easy to explain away given that the inhabitants of the city were inside for the night. A jogger or a loving couple might stumble across a body but the likelihood of either party being believed was slim.

  That’s what she told herself, anyway. Coyote was quick to leave the dead where they lie for the retrieval squad. Her protégé was at the forefront of her mind. From a distance he looked fine, but she knew that assuming anything about Scritch was setting oneself up for disappointment. She arrived at his side and put a hand on his chest. There were more than a few questions she wanted to ask him. Those would have to wait. There was only one question that needed to be asked at the moment.

  “Scritch. Are you ok?” The words felt wrong coming out of her mouth. Was he ok? She’d seen him torn in half and then dogpiled by fourteen wretched beasts. Thankfully there weren’t any scars or missing limbs. That didn’t necessarily mean he came out unscathed, though.

  “That depends,” said the body. “Did we win?” Coyote laughed. More of an outburst of air from her mouth than a real laugh. As far as Scritch was concerned that was as good as it got.

  “Yeah. Yeah, we won big time.” Coyote patted his shoulder and looked him over again. Something wasn’t sitting right with her. She couldn’t put her finger on it.

  “Radical.” Scritch gave Coyote a thumbs up. A gesture that was happily reciprocated. Scritch’s hand fell down and he happily sprawled out on the grass. His breathing was heavy and labored but Coyote could hardly blame him. After all, the amount of damage he’d sustained was enough to kill someone at least three times over.

  Then her thoughts came together.

  “Scritch.” Coyote’s eyes widened. She placed a hand on his chest and felt the rise and fall of his torso. He was breathing. Without a doubt, the headless man was taking in oxygen. That didn’t make sense. He’d never taken a breath before, had he?

  “Scritch,” she repeated. “You’re breathing!”

  “Well duh,” came his response. “I’m, uh, I’m kind’ve exhausted.”

  “You’re exhausted?” Her reply came immediately. Something else she’d never heard of before. He didn’t get tired. He didn’t sleep, eat, or breathe. Now all of a sudden he was gasping for air and complaining of fatigue?

  “I’m gonna just… I’m gonna take a nap…”

  “Scritch? Hey, Scritch! Scritch!”

  Scritch would not awaken for five days.