The Witch Vol.1 - Werewolves

2010 - some day in December
The manor in New Orleans was an imposing structure, its Victorian elegance shrouded in a melancholy atmosphere. Shadows draped across the rooms, and the weight of history seemed to press down on the very walls. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old books and forgotten memories.
Charlotte Benoit lay on her bed, her lithe form barely visible beneath the tangled sheets. Her once vibrant red hair now spread out in a disheveled halo, a stark contrast to the dim room. The last case had drained her, body and soul, leaving her in a state of perpetual exhaustion. She had spent days in this cocoon of darkness, wrestling with the ghosts of her past and the ever-present threat of The Lurker within her.
Around her, her loyal companions and familiars never left her side. Isle, her marbled border collie, lay at the foot of the bed, its doe eyes following every move with quiet concern. On either side of her, two Maine Coon cats, a black one named Behemoth and a white one named Astra, nestled close, their soft purring the only sound in the room.
Her cousin, Luise, entered the room with the kind of brisk determination only family could muster. She flung open the heavy curtains, letting a sliver of the harsh midday light pierce through the gloom. Luise was a tall, rather squat woman with dark gray hair streaked with the passage of time. She looked to be in her sixties; her face holding that unflappable, distinguished quality that made her appear timelessly beautiful. Her presence was commanding, an aura of no-nonsense practicality wrapped around her like a cloak.
"Charlie! Get up right now! You have an important phone call!" Luise's voice was a mix of concern and urgency, slicing through the lethargy that clung to Charlotte.
Charlotte stirred, her green eyes barely open, glaring at Luise with the look of someone who had been pulled from the depths of an uneasy slumber. Despite the protest in her bones, she sat up, the blanket slipping off to reveal her freckled arms and cleavage covered in intricate tattoos that told stories of battles fought and scars earned.
"Who the hell is it?" she muttered, her voice gravelly from disuse.
"It's Laura Hale," Luise replied, thrusting the phone into Charlotte's hand before she could argue.

Charlotte blinked, the name cutting through the fog in her mind. She took a deep breath, grounding herself before bringing the phone to her ear. "This is Charlotte," she said, her tone weary but firm.

"Witch?" Laura Hale's voice was hesitant, carrying an edge of desperation that Charlotte immediately recognized.
"Yes, it's me. What's going on, Laura?"
"I need your help. Something's happening in Beacon Hills. There's... something out there, leaving signs, and I think it's another werewolf. I need you to come and help me figure this out."
In the background, Charlotte could hear a male voice arguing with Laura, insisting she shouldn't seek help from someone unknown. Though she didn't mention it, Charlotte knew the voice belonged to Laura's brother.
Charlotte's heart sank. The last thing she wanted was to be dragged into another supernatural crisis, but Laura's plea struck a chord. Despite her weariness, the protector in her stirred. 
"Alright, Laura. I'll be there. But you need to prepare yourself. Do nothing rash. I'll be there when new year starts."
"Thank you, Charlotte. I'll be waiting at my old house."
The call ended, leaving Charlotte with a sense of impending dread. She looked at Luise, who was already gathering a set of clothes for her.
"I guess I'm going to Beacon Hills," Charlotte said, forcing herself out of bed.
Luise nodded, her expression a mix of relief and worry. "Just promise me you'll be careful."

Charlotte offered a tired smile. "Always."

Luise crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing with concern. "Charlie, you can't keep doing this to yourself. You're overworked, and it's clear you're not taking care of yourself. When was the last time you ate properly or slept without being haunted by nightmares?"
Charlotte sighed, rubbing her temples. "Luise, I appreciate your concern, but this is what I do. People need me."
"At what cost, Charlie? Look at you! You're exhausted, barely functioning. This isn't just about helping others anymore. I think you're dealing with depression, and you need to address it. You can't keep burying yourself in work."
Charlotte's expression hardened, a flicker of anger mingling with the fatigue in her eyes. "I don't have time for this, Luise. People are in danger. I can't just ignore that."
"And what about you?" Luise shot back, her voice rising. "Who's going to help you when you collapse? Who's going to be there when you've pushed yourself too far?"
The room fell silent, the tension between them palpable. Isle lifted her head, sensing the emotional storm brewing. Behemoth and Astra both stopped purring, their eyes fixed on their mistress.
Charlotte's shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her. "I don't know, Luise. I don't know how to stop."
Luise stepped closer, her expression softening. "I'm not asking you to stop helping people, Charlie. I'm asking you to take care of yourself, too. Please, for once, think about your own well-being."
Charlotte nodded slowly, the weight of her cousin's words settling heavily on her. "I'll try, Luise. I promise I'll try."
As she got dressed, the weight of her duty settled on her shoulders once more. The Lurker inside her stirred, but she pushed it back, focusing on the task ahead. Beacon Hills needed her, and despite everything, she wouldn't let them down.
"Why don't you come with me, Luise? I could use the help," Charlotte suggested, a note of hope in her voice.
Luise shook her head, a sad smile playing on her lips. "I'm too old for this now, Charlie. These bones can't handle the travel and the stress anymore. Besides, someone needs to stay here and look after things."
Charlotte looked at her cousin, the years etched on Luise's face a stark reminder of the passage of time—something that Charlotte herself seemed immune to. While the years came and went, leaving their mark on everyone around her, she remained unchanged, perpetually stuck in the body of a twenty-four-year-old.
"Yeah, I know," Charlotte replied, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "It's hard to convince anyone I'm not a college dropout as it is."
Luise chuckled softly, shaking her head. "If only they knew, huh? Just be careful out there and remember to take care of yourself, too."
The room, now illuminated by the invading sunlight, revealed its character. Antique furniture filled the space, a testament to the manor's history. Ornate bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes on magic and history. A large, intricate rug covered the wooden floor, its patterns worn but still beautiful. The scent of aged wood, faint incense, and the comforting presence of her familiars filled the air, as they sensed the shift in their mistress's mood and stayed close, providing silent support.
🌙
January 1st 2011 - Saturday
Charlie felt a bittersweet pang as she pulled the cover off her beloved 1970 Chevelle SS. The dark blue paint gleamed even in the dim light of the garage, a testament to the hours she had spent meticulously caring for it. The chrome accents sparkled, and the black racing stripes that ran the length of the car added an aura of restrained power. This car was more than just a vehicle to her; it was a piece of her soul, a constant companion through the decades of her unchanging life.
Sliding into the driver's seat, she took a moment to appreciate the supple feel of the leather beneath her. The interior, restored to its original glory, enveloped her in a cocoon of nostalgia. The steering wheel, worn smooth by years of use, felt like an old friend in her hands. She turned the key, and the engine roared to life with a deep, throaty growl that sent a thrill through her. This was her sanctuary, her escape, and it was as much a part of her as the magic that pulsed through her veins.
The journey to Beacon Hills was long, but the Chevelle made it a pleasure rather than a chore. The miles rolled by under the car's powerful tires; the landscape changing from the flat, swampy expanses of Louisiana to the rolling hills and dense forests of northern California. Charlotte felt a sense of freedom as she sped down the highways, the wind in her hair and the open road ahead. The rhythmic thrum of the engine was a comforting constant, a reminder of the strength and reliability of the car that had seen her through so many adventures.
As she crossed into California, the scenery shifted dramatically. Towering redwoods lined the roads, their ancient trunks creating a tunnel of green overhead. As the air grew cooler, fresher, she could detect the distant tang of the ocean blended with the earthy scent of the forest. The path became more serpentine as she approached Beacon Hills; the Chevelle handling the curves with a grace that belied its age.
Beacon Hills itself was a picturesque town nestled in the heart of a forested valley. Quaint houses with well-tended gardens lined the streets, and small businesses with charming facades dotted the town center. There was a timeless quality to the place, a sense of history that resonated with Charlotte. As she drove through the main street, she noticed a mix of old and new, historic buildings housing modern cafes and boutiques, teenagers on skateboards zipping past retirees enjoying their morning coffee.
The townsfolk seemed friendly enough, many of them waving as she drove by. She noted the local high school, a large, well-maintained building surrounded by sports fields. Her new place of work. She took a deep breath, feeling a mix of anxiety and determination. This was a new beginning, a new challenge, and she was ready to face it head-on.
Charlotte's new home was a charming two-story cottage on the outskirts of town, surrounded by a small, overgrown garden that promised privacy and a touch of wild beauty. She parked the Chevelle in the driveway and stepped out to take in her surroundings. From a distance, the cottage appeared charming, but upon closer inspection, its wear became evident. Beneath the chipped and peeling paint on the wooden exterior of the cottage, layers of history became clear. The porch creaked under her weight, and the rusty hinges of the front door groaned in protest as she opened it.
Despite the exterior's rough edges, Charlotte saw potential. The inside of the cottage was cozy and welcoming, though it, too, showed signs of age and neglect. The living room featured a stone fireplace, its hearth filled with ashes from long-forgotten fires. A worn but comfortable-looking couch faced the fireplace, flanked by two mismatched armchairs that added to the eclectic charm. Wooden beams crossed the ceiling, giving the room a rustic, homey feel.
The kitchen was small but functional, with old-fashioned cabinetry and a quaint breakfast nook by a window that looked out onto the garden. Charlotte made a mental note to clear out the countertops cluttered with remnants of the previous occupant's life. She could already picture herself baking there, using the space to unwind after long days.
She climbed the creaky wooden stairs to the upper floor, where two bedrooms and a bathroom awaited. The main bedroom, her new sanctuary, was furnished simply with a large bed, a wooden dresser, and a nightstand. A patchwork quilt, which had seen better days but added a touch of warmth to the room, covered the bed. The second bedroom would serve as a guest room or perhaps a study, its bare walls and empty shelves offering a blank canvas for her to personalize.
The bathroom, though small, had an old clawfoot tub that she could already imagine soaking in after a particularly grueling day. The white tiles were cracked and yellowing, but the space held a charm that modern fixtures often lacked. To her surprise, alongside the tub was a shower cabin, a modern addition that contrasted with the bathroom's vintage aesthetic. The cabin's glass doors were a bit foggy with age, but it was functional and would be a convenient option for quicker showers.
Isle, Behemoth, and Astra quickly made themselves at home, exploring the unfamiliar territory with curiosity. Isle trotted around the living room, sniffing every corner, while Behemoth and Astra leapt onto the couch, their purring filling the space with a sense of comfort and normalcy. Charlotte felt a sense of peace settle over her as she unpacked her belongings and arranged her new space. The drive had been long, but it had given her time to prepare mentally for the challenges ahead...
As the sun set over Beacon Hills, casting a warm golden glow over the town, Charlotte felt a glimmer of hope. This place held secrets, and she was here to uncover them. With a last glance at her Chevelle, parked proudly in the driveway, she headed inside, ready to start the next chapter of her life.